Wilder
by kayelem
Summary: After the destruction of her tribe, a Chasind hunter becomes a Grey Warden. She seems to be everything Ferelden hates: Chasind, blasphemous, 'barbaric' and 'uncivilized', among other things. But together with an ex-noble and an ex-templar, they are the only thing standing between the country and the Blight. -Mostly T with some M chapters-
1. I

**Wilder**

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**I **

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The other Grey Wardens in Ostagar were calling her 'Wilder'.

It seemed fitting, Alistair thought, given the fact that they didn't actually know her name. Since Duncan returned with her from a scouting trip he had taken into the Wilds, the Chasind girl had not spoken one word to anyone besides Duncan. Any conversations directed toward her were met with a cold, indignant stare that burned with a disdain Alistair had only ever seen in Lady Isolde's eyes. And now that Duncan had left for Redcliffe to secure Arl Eamon's assistance for the King, the girl didn't speak _at all. _She did her duties around the camp diligently, endured jeers and taunts from the other soldiers with grace (_perhaps because she can't understand what they're saying_, Alistair thought), and did not breathe a single complaint.

And... Alistair had no idea where she was.

Duncan had left him the sole responsibility of watching over her while he was gone and for nearly a week nothing happened, until that morning when she vanished. He'd been making sure that she was always within his range of sight - there was no telling what hazing the other Wardens would come up with without their Commander there, and yet the one moment he turned his back, Wilder had disappeared. Duncan was due back within the day, and if Alistair could not locate his wayward charge… well, he didn't want to think about what would befall him.

He'd been searching for her most of the day and she had not been in any of her usual haunts around the camp. Anyone he asked said that they had not seen her, and it wasn't as if the girl could blend in very well - she was the only person in the camp whose armor was decorated with bear fur (how had she managed _that_, Alistair had wondered considering most Fereldens ran screaming in the opposite direction of bears). Not to mention that wherever she went people cut her wide berth, wary of what she was. And yet, the girl seemed to be irritatingly adept to disappearing. It seemed the only thing to do at the moment was wait and pray to the Maker that she returned before morning.

Alistair sighed as he thought back to only two weeks ago when Duncan returned from his scouting trip with the girl trailing behind morosely clothed in dirt and flecked with blood, and announced that he had found another recruit to add to the one they already had - a rogue from Denerim named Daveth. He thought Duncan mad, recruiting one of the _Chasind_, and voiced his doubts, but Duncan had assured him that the girl had more than proved her mettle. Her tribe had been attacked by the darkspawn, Duncan and his scouting party had heard the fighting and rushed to assist, but by the time the battle was over, Wilder was the only survivor.

She really hadn't taken it well and hid out in her tent for two days. When she finally emerged, it was during breakfast. Wilder had marched straight into the mess tent with her head held high, right up to Duncan sitting at the King's table and, according to him, apologized for her actions and promised to do better. Alistair remembered how the entire mess tent had gone silent the moment everyone realized she was there, and yet she spoke so softly to Duncan that no one had been able to hear her. Then, she spun on her heel and marched right back out sparing no one even a fleeting glance.

Alistair didn't really get a good look at the girl until the next morning when she showed up in the training yard. She was definitely not what he expected of a Chasind wilder. The tribal tattoo that was inked into the skin of her bicep and disappeared beneath the shoulder of her armor was expected; the thick black lines were interwoven forming intricate patterns that were all sharp angles and jutting lines. Her long, mahogany hair was streaked with strands of red only visible when they ignited in the early morning sun. Feathers and beads of all colors and charms carved from bone were threaded and braided into her hair, which she wore twisted back from her face allowing the remainder to tumble down her back in thick waves. Her armor was leather, sleek and seemed to move with her like a second skin accented and lined with fur to protect from the chill of the Wilds.

He, like the other soldiers and Wardens assembled in the training yard, had hoped they would see Wilder in action, but in that aspect they were disappointed. More than one soldier challenged her to a duel in the sparring ring, and all they received in return was an impassive stare. She was perfectly content to stay back and watch the goings on around her. Daveth told him the way she just watched made his nose twitch.

Alistair jolted out of his reverie when he caught movement just over one of the walls that were resurrected in front of the entrance to the Wilds. Alistair drew his sword, watching as the dark figure perched on the wall for a moment, then leapt into the nearest tree completely disappearing into the foliage, before it swung down from the branch and dropped lithely to the ground all in one fluid, acrobatic move. Alistair resisted the urge to growl under his breath when the moonlight revealed her angled features to him. It was Wilder - she had somehow managed to sneak out of the camp which was astounding in and of itself, but the fact that she had managed to sneak back _in_, that was a feat. But before Alistair could revel in his shock, he was sheathing his sword and striding toward her, propelled by his irritation.

"Hey!" he shouted, causing her to stiffen. "Would you like to explain to me what in the Maker's name you were just doing?"

Wilder turned to look at him, clutching the strap to the rucksack over her shoulder, her expression lacking the fear he thought should have been there. She looked at him with complete and utter disinterest, as though he was beneath her notice. Alistair felt his jaw clench, he was a Grey Warden and by Andraste's flaming sword he shouldn't have to endure someone looking at him like he was nothing anymore!

"Well?" He pressed through his teeth. "Answer me, Wilder! Duncan left you as my charge that means you are my responsibility! And now you sneak off to Maker knows where, doing Maker knows what! Do you have any idea how _worried_ I've been? You snuck out of the camp, do you understand that if anything happened to you it would have been on my head! Do you even have any idea of what would have happened to _you_ if anyone besides me caught you!"

It was the first time Alistair had ever addressed her by the impolite moniker, it was also the first time he saw the anger flash through her pale green eyes when it was used, narrowing into a glare that sent a chill down his spine. He watched her dusky skin color prettily with her anger and felt his own ears grow warm out of embarrassment - he had never raised his voice to a woman before.

They stood, locked in their silent irritation for awhile until Alistair's fizzled and burned out. He sighed, feeling his puffed-up posture deflate. "Oh what's the point. It's not as though you actually understand a word I'm saying to you."

He turned to walk away from her and got half a dozen strides away when he heard her make a noise behind him. He turned around, "What?"

Wilder breathed a long suffering sigh and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She shifted her weight and looked back at him. "Anouk," she said, and her voice was soft, teeming with an impatient undertone. "My name is Anouk, I would appreciate you using it, I am quite tired of being referred to as 'Wilder'."

Alistair felt his bottom jaw unhinge itself from the top, quite without his permission. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at her as if she had grown another head, he was only aware of her shifting her weight awkwardly and raising an eyebrow at him. All Alistair really wanted to do was find a great rock somewhere to hide beneath. She could understand him, which also meant that she could understand the things the other Wardens and the soldiers have been saying about her, both when they thought she couldn't hear as well as when she was well within earshot.

"Why didn't you just tell us your name?" he asked, "That's the quickest way for us to call you by it."

Anouk's expression pinched, "No one inquired except for your Duncan. Why should I give my name away to those who are only concerned with _what_ I am, and who make no attempts to change what they think they know about me?"

"I've… never really thought of it that way," Alistair admitted. "Now will you tell me why you snuck out of camp into the Wilds that are crawling with darkspawn, you could have been killed."

"My tribesmen could not be properly laid to rest when your Duncan found me, their spirits still wandered, I had to free them," she replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And you couldn't do that from the safety of camp?"

She shook her head, and by the light of his torch he saw the small smile pulling a corner of her mouth. But it was a smile of indulgence, a smile one wears when enduring the curiosity of a child. A smile Alistair knew all too well. "This structure of stone bears no life but what you have placed inside of it. Their spirits would not find rest in this man made place."

"Oh, well… all right then," he stammered.

"I don't expect you to understand," Anouk told him. A pause. "I should like to return to my tent, if that is alright with you."

"Oh! Oh of course," Alistair said with a smile. She cast him a small smile and turned to walk away, but Alistair called out, "You know, you're not exactly what I expected of a -"

"Barbarian?" She questioned, turning once more to face him. He had expected her eyes to be alight with irritation once more, but all he saw was a tired sort of resolve that he didn't quite understand.

Alistair shook his head, "A Chasind, I was going to say a Chasind."

Anouk made a humming noise as she nodded, "I see. You expected me to be uncivilized, unable to speak, to understand - a savage with no basic humanity."

Alistair wanted so badly to lie to her then, so she wouldn't lump him in with the rest of the Wardens and the soldiers who ridiculed and insulted her. He didn't want her to think that was how he thought of her until a few moments ago. The problem with lying to Anouk was that Alistair felt that even if he were to lie, she would see right through it and hate him more. So with a humbling sigh, he told her, "Something like that."

"Hmm, for a moment I was sure you would lie to me," Anouk commented, and he could hear the surprise lacing the dulcet tones of her voice.

He nodded, "For a moment, I almost did."

Her eyes roamed over him for a moment, taking him in from head to toe. She looked to Alistair to be having some kind of internal debate with herself, and he was sure it was over whether or not she should trust him. Most likely, all of her dealings with anyone who was not of the Chasind were less than honorable so to find someone who, to Anouk, was an outsider telling her the truth was probably a strange occurence, one she didn't know how to process.

Finally, Anouk told him, "You're a very strange man."

Alistair could not help the laugh that bubbled up his throat and passed through his lips, "You're not the first woman to tell me that."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello everyone!<strong>

**This is my first DA fic, I adored the game and thought I would try my hand at a fic.  
>Obviously, this is a different "Origins" than the choices you're offered in the game<br>with the Warden being a Chasind Wilder. It was really just a whisper of an idea  
>that wouldn't shut up until I wrote it down, so here it is. <strong>

**I'm going to try my best to do more than just re-hash the game's story line,  
>hopefully keeping the game's dialouge to a minimum. There will be a few<br>chapters before we get to the joining and famous battle at Ostagar. **

**Also, I feel the need to tell you I'm having one of those days where no  
>matter how many times I spell something it looks wrong. Sigh. <strong>

**Anyway, please review and let me know what you thought!  
>Hopefully I'll see you next chapter! <strong>

**-(gxr)-**

**EDITED: 12/21**


	2. II

**Wilder**

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**II**

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The moment she opened her eyes, Anouk knew she was in the dream realm. Her home no longer existed so there was no possible way for her to be waking in her hut. And this world did not possess the same stark qualities as the corporeal world, in the periphery of her vision everything shimmered and shifted; she could see the cracks in her dream allowing her brief glimpses into the hazy, grey world behind it. There were no harsh edges in this realm, everything was dulled, softened to look more pleasant.

Moreover, Anouk felt nothing here. As she reached for her hunting bow, she felt not the texture of the wood nor the weight of it in her hands. As she strapped into her armor, Anouk waited for the inevitable and after ten minutes or so, it came.

A knock on the door, follwed by, "Anouk, _dehana!_"

She sighed and opened the door, greeting the face in the doorway and clenching her teeth against the pain of seeing it again. "_Asiyu, _Taiomah."

Taiomah grinned just as he had that morning, as he had every morning and Anouk relished the sight of it. "For a moment I feared I would have to hunt on my own."

"And leave our kills riddled with arrows due to your poor marksmanship?" she jibed, closing the door behind her and stepping into the pre-dawn hush. "Come along, and perhaps I may finally teach you how to use your bow."

Taiomah followed behind her obediently, feigning injury at her words. "You wound me!" he cried indignantly.

She laughed, "Not yet, but I will."

But as always, he forgave her when they reached the creek to fill their waterskins. She watched him dip the opening in, only to jerk his hands back out and comment on how cold the water was.

"You say that every morning," she replied, kneeling beside him to fill her own waterskin. Her hands were always numb when she lifted them back out, but here where nothing was as real as it looked, she could not feel the current of the water bubbling over her hands nor the cold against her skin.

Anouk watched Taiomah in a way she never had while they hunted, in a way she was only permitted to in the dream realm. She took in the way he moved, every angle and curve of his handsome face, her heart aching all the more for doing so. She admired the skill in his hands as he assembled traps and lures, the single-minded concentration in his gaze when he aimed, the joy on his face when he successfully killed his prey.

She did not see it at the time, but now she saw how he watched her as well. She saw how his gaze softened when he looked at her, heard the gentle caress of his tone when he said her name. _How could I have not realized?_ Anouk wondered.

A fog rolled in, making the atmosphere around her thick with a miasma that obscured everything. The world then shifted around her, the colors swirled together and blended, and she cried out against it, against losing the full morning of their hunt. When the haze disappeared, she was standing before her father in his hut and although she already knew how the conversation was going to progress, Anouk still felt her stomach drop.

"You sent for me, _edoda_?"

"Yes, _uwetsi_," he said in the same deep voice she remembered. "How was your hunt this morning with Taiomah?"

"Scarce. The Wilds are restless for a reason I cannot understand," she replied. "Aleshanee says that a great change is coming, perhaps that is the reason."

Her father smiled knowingly, but she knew that he did not hear her talk of her hunt, that he had only asked as a formality. "A great change _is_ coming." He paused then, perhaps for a greater effect of his next words; her father had always been known for his theatrics. "I have decided it is time for you to marry."

Anouk's shock and outrage fought for control. She remembered thinking she had heard him incorrectly, or that for a moment her worse night terror had come to fruition. She was a hunter, one of the _Kanati_! The _signa_ on her arm branded her as such. She was not equipped for the life of a wife and mother - she didn't even like children, and many of the men in the tribe barely acted as anything more.

_"Edoda!_" she cried.

"Do not defy me, Anouk," he warned lowly, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I endured your whims, your desire to train as _Kanati_, allowed you to undergo your _Signum_ as one. But you are first and foremost my daughter and it is time to take your place among your people. I am not going to live forever, and your husband will become the new _Ulagu_, but without you, that cannot happen."

Anouk thought she might faint and could not for the life of her draw enough air into her lungs. For a second time the dream realm began to move and change and she struggled to push her stomach back into place as it stopped.

She stood in a small clearing by the creek, the spot she always ran to so she could clear her mind where the trees stood tall around her and the water reflected the sunset's bruising. Anouk only knew the wind was blowing from watching the reeds sway in the breeze. She remembered there were angry tears on her face as betrayal seared a scar onto her heart. Her hand idly played with the sparrow's skull hung around her neck that singled her out as the Chief's daughter. The clearing offered no solace to her now because she knew that she would do as her father willed for her people.

Anouk had known he was there before he made himself known, she felt him. She knew his body in the air around her, knew the feel of him at her back, the sound of his footfalls in the grass. She knew the cadence of his breathing as surely as her own, and imagined that her heart beat in time with his.

"Leave me, Taiomah," she called.

"I will not," he replied, stepping behind her. Anouk watched his hands come up to rest on her arms, and she clenched her eyes shut willing the dream to allow her to feel the warmth of his palms. Taiomah turned her to face him, his expression falling into a concerned mask, "Why do you cry?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat, "My father says I must marry, he's making the announcement in the morning. I'll be a hunter no longer, no man wants a wife who can kill a deer with a single arrow."

His hands tightened on her arms, and she watched his unfathomably dark eyes become haunted for a reason she did not yet understand. "What?" he breathed. Overwhelmed, Anouk fell against him, burying her face in his chest, hearing his heart beat hard and fast. "I won't let that happen, Anouk. I'll speak to your father, maybe he can be convinced to alter his path."

"The only way you could do that is if you approached him to ask for my hand," she told him. "He is set in his intent to see me married."

Taiomah was silent for a long moment until he finally said, "Then that's what I'll do. You'll be allowed to stay a hunter, your father will see you married, and the tribe will have a _Ulagu_ when he passes."

Anouk's heart soared hearing it again, but still she took a step back because it seemed that re-living this day demanded that she was only permitted to repeat the same actions and words. "Why would you do such a thing?"

He dropped his arms, casting his gaze to the ground and scuffing the toe of his boot in the grass to avoid looking at her. Anouk could see the tendon standing out in his jaw from clenching his teeth and his cheeks had colored. Finally he shrugged, "I always thought it was quite obvious."

"Taiomah?"

Anouk watched him raise his hand to lay it against her cheek. "I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember," he admitted, finally raising his head to meet her eye.

Was it only when he admitted it to her that Anouk realized she loved him in return? Or had she always loved Taiomah? It was a question she could not answer. She only knew that she would not love any other man her father accepted a proposal from. But Anouk did not want to trap Taiomah in a prison he could never escape from just to allow her to remain a hunter.

Anouk shook her head, "I can't allow you do that, Taiomah. You do not desire to be our _Ulagu_, and I could never ask you to undertake that for me."

Taiomah sighed as his hand brushed the stray hair from her face. "Do you think I would offer this lightly, Anouk? You speak the truth, I do not want to be Chief. I do, however, desire you and if this is what I must do to have you, then it is a small matter compared to the alternative."

He kissed her then, pressing his mouth lightly to hers, surely fearing that she would push him away. But Anouk responded eagerly, pulling herself flush against him. She tried to recall into the dream how he tasted, how his hands felt roaming her body, the feel of gooseflesh rolling over her skin. She wished her fingers could feel how soft his hair was, longed for her mouth to feel how warm his was.

Taiomah pulled away first trying to catch his breath as he rested his forehead against hers. He kept his eyes closed, but Anouk kept her gaze on his mouth committing it to memory - swollen and pink from the pressure of her own and pulled into a warm smile.

It was then they heard the drums, and the brief moment of happiness they had managed to find was shattered. Sharing a look of terror, Anouk and Taiomah leapt apart before tearing off through the woods back to the village. As she ran, the world around Anouk once again began to change and it was this shift that she was dreading the most.

Anouk now stood in the middle of her ravaged village. By the time she and Taiomah arrived, a little less than half of the tribe lay dead and many more were quickly dropping from fatal wounds. All around her she heard screams, watched as homes burned casting an eerie glow upon what had become a battlefield. The Dark Ones descended upon the village in tremendous force; she had never seen this many in the Wilds before. The most she had seen at a time were three or four, easy enough to dispatch, but now they outnumbered the tribe three to one.

Anouk cut through them, and it seemed to her that for every one she killed two more cropped up like weeds. Every direction she turned there was a new blade to block or avoid, there was a new creature to kill. She fell into the rhythm of battle, her twin hatchets becoming extensions of herself as she became another being entirely, one born and bred in the chaos of battle.

Much to late to be of any real assistance, new battle cries joined the cacophony of fighting and Anouk watched as new warriors swarmed into the village. The men were not Chasind, that much was obvious, and as Anouk watched the Dark Ones focus their attention on the outsiders she understood that they must be the legendary Grey Wardens Aleshanee was so fond of telling stories about.

She appreciated the slight repose, recalling how her limbs had begun to grow heavy with fatigue. Now Anouk was granted a moment to look around her and time moved to a crawl as she turned. She looked to the bodies littering the ground, staining the earth with their lifeblood, forever changing the land. She watched the Wardens clash with the Dark Ones, watched the latter fall, their forces halved in a matter of minutes with the Wardens' efficiency.

Time resumed normal speed when she heard Taiomah cry out behind her and she spun in time to see his legs give out beneath him. Anouk knew she called out to him as she abandoned her own fighting to reach him. The hatchet in her hand flew free embedding between the eyes of the creature ready for the kill. She dropped before she reached him, the ground biting into her knees as she slid to his side. Taiomah's eyes were already fading as he searched her face, the smile stretched across his lips a bloody and twisted facsimile to the so many he had shared with her before this.

Triumphant cries sounded above the fading din of battle. Anouk looked up as the remaining Dark Ones fled the village and the Wardens cheered for their success. But Anouk looked around again at her burning village, her dead or dying tribesmen, and finally to Taiomah who had become still with death and wondered how the Wardens considered this a victory.

"Spread out, search for survivors, and quicken those showing signs of sickness," a voice rang out above the cheers.

The Wardens spread out in the village, but Anouk didn't move, busying herself with tidying Taiomah's hair and trying to convince herself that he was only unconscious. A Warden crouched down beside her, out of arms length reach and leaning away from her. The young man had probably never been so close to a Chasind before and expected an imminent attack.

"… Are you injured?" the man asked slowly, enunciating every word as though he were speaking to a small child. Anouk narrowed her eyes into a glare that made the young man shrink back further, but he continued, "I'm trying to help you!"

Just as Anouk took a breath to snap at him, a hand came down on the young man's shoulder. She looked up meeting the gaze of the man she assumed to be their leader if the quality of his armor were any indication. The creases and lines in his face were many and his dark hair was turning grey at his temples. Anouk suspected that he looked much older than he truly was, but his eyes were kind, if firm.

The young man nodded and left, allowing the older man to take his place. "Might I know your name in exchange for my own?"

She nodded, acquiescing to his request. "Anouk," she replied quietly.

He nodded, "Well met, I am Duncan. I see you're the Chief's daughter," he said motioning to the bird skull necklace. "I regret to tell you that your father did not make it, and as far as my men can tell… you are the only one who has."

Anouk didn't need to hear him say it, she already knew it to be true, knew because of all the voices around her she recognized none. She could feel it in the recesses of her bones that she was the only one who remained, but all she felt was an aching hollowness that resonated through her being. The last words she had spoken to her father were harsh and scathing and he had gone to Tsusgina'i, the ghost country, bearing her anger toward him.

"I also regret to tell you that I cannot leave you here," Duncan said next. "There is a Blight upon the land and should I leave you here, the Dark Ones' taint will consume and kill you. I am looking for recruits to join the Grey Wardens and I believe we would greatly benefit if you joined our ranks."

She looked up at Duncan seeking any falsehood in his features as she was so used to seeing on an outsider's face. But she could not, Anouk saw only truth in his steady gaze. Anouk knew, by way of Aleshanee's stories, that the Grey Wardens were the only ones who could defeat a Blight, the only one's immune to the Dark Ones' disease. The Grey Wardens were the only ones who could help her avenge her tribe. Her path was clear and laid out before her as plainly as the rising sun.

Turning back one final time to Taiomah's body, Anouk steeled herself with a deep breath and laid his head gently on the ground. Duncan rose with her as she stood and when she faced him, Anouk gave a single nod of her head.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again and welcome to chapter 2! <strong>

**Obviously we've just relieved Anouk's "Origin" story,  
>and her recruitment by Duncan. I always found it strange<br>that Ostagar is in the middle of the Kocari Wilds, and that  
>there are Chasind tribes in the Wilds, and yet, Duncan did not attempt to<br>recruit from them. **

**I am going to be taking Chasind culture and custom from several different  
>sources as the story progresses. The ghost country that is mentioned, Tsusgina'i,<br>comes from Cherokee myths/legends. **

**Translations: **

**dehana - come**

**asiyu - hello**

**edoda - father**

**uwetsi - daughter**

**kanati - hunter**

**ulagu - leader**

**Signa and Signum are words I actually did make up. I took them from  
>the latin for marking before I knew what language I was going to use<br>for Chasind language. Annd I'm too lazy to change it. **

**I'd like to thank xseikax for reviewing the last chapter! Thank you so much.  
>There were actually two more reviews on the last chapter, but I took the<br>story down and reposted it, so I don't remember who it was. Sorry! **

**Please review and let me know what you thought! :) **

**-(gxr)- **

**EDITED: 12/21/11**


	3. III

**Wilder**

**_._**

_._

**III**

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The morning after Alistair found Wilder - _Anouk_, he mentally corrected himself - sneaking back into Ostagar he woke up with a rather positive attitude. Their conversation the previous night, albeit rather short, was hopeful; she had smiled, he had laughed. It seemed to Alistair that the two of them were on the way to building a companionship, or at the very least a cautionary friendship. He was the only Warden aside from Duncan who had not approached her with open hostility or fear and after a moment of hesitation, she had responded surprisingly well. He felt that they had reached some level of understanding and that thought was promising.

But Alistair halted as he buckled his boots, giving pause to a thought he did not yet wish to entertain. Anouk was a Grey Warden recruit still and had yet to undergo her Joining - a ritual that could very well take her life. He tried for a moment to conjure the image of Anouk's pale eyes, glossy and blinded by the white film he'd seen in others', imagined the inside of her mouth blackened from the tainted blood and shuddered thinking of her skin spider webbed with black, poisoned veins.

He knew of course that there was nothing he could do that would help Anouk survive her Joining. Either you lived to pay your price until your Calling, or you paid it immediately. Only one died at his own Joining, but Alistair remembered with clarity how awful it was and his survivor's remorse ate at him every time he thought of it. Anxiety knotted in his gut because he knew that Duncan would insist he be there for Anouk and Daveth's Joining despite the fact that it was an event he did not wish to experience a second time.

Alistair also did not wish to be in attendance when Anouk was told she had to drink the blood of the very creatures who destroyed her home. He imagined that gem of information was not going to go over very well.

With a shake of his head, Alistair dismissed the thoughts from his head. The Joining was likely days away and there would be a time to think on it, but not now. He pulled back the flap of his tent and stepped into the open, taking a deep breath to relish the cool morning air. Alistair rather liked the chilly southern climate, the bracing winds that brought the clean and crisp smell of the pine and cedar trees all around. It was a welcome change to Redcliffe that was constantly humid and smelled of fish.

Alistair heard Anouk before he saw her and he looked up to find her a few yards away, struggling with the yoke braced across the back of her shoulders and loaded down with two full buckets of water. Her cheeks had flushed from the effort she was exuding and he could see that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. He could hear her talking under her breath, but he couldn't understand a word of it; the syllables were clipped, the consonants hard with pauses in unusual places, but from the force of her words Alistair figured that Anouk was swearing rather colorfully.

He looked around, searching for any sign of Daveth because the other recruit should have been doing the same duty as Anouk, but the rogue was nowhere to be seen. His brought his attention back to Anouk when he heard her cry out in surprise and watched as she crashed to the ground sprawling spectacularly into the water that had previously been in the two buckets she was carrying.

"Wilder bitch," the solider who tripped her sneered before spitting at her.

Before he realized what he was doing, Alistair had closed the distance, grabbed the offending solider around his upper arm and wheeled him around. "I think you owe the lady an apology," Alistair told the solider casually, though in his gaze he conveyed just how serious he was.

"You need your eyes checked, that's no lady," the solider snorted arrogantly. "Dunno what good it'd do, she can't understand a damn word I say."

Alistair's grip on the soldier's arm tightened. "She understands you well enough. Now apologize, before I inform the King just how grievously you've treated a Grey Warden."

The threat had its desired effect, everyone knew how highly Cailan regarded the Grey Wardens and the king would not take kindly to his own soldiers mistreating one. Gritting his teeth, the soldier wrenched his arm from Alistair's vice grip and mockingly bowed before addressing Anouk, "My apologizes _lady_."

Anouk cast a fierce glare in the soldier's direction and muttered something in her own language under her breath. With a final look of disdain in Alistair's direction, the soldier stalked off somewhere to stew in his indignation. Alistair shook his head as he crouched to Anouk's level where she was inspecting the scrapes along her forearms and tonguing the split in her lip where she had bitten it so blood made a steady trail down her chin. She was covered in mud from her encounter with the ground and he noted, with shock, that angry tears were welling in her eyes. Anouk wiped harshly at her face, using what water was left in one of the buckets to rinse the rapidly drying blood and wet dirt from her skin.

"Are you all right?" he asked cautiously.

Anouk's eyes darted to his and he resisted the sudden urge to shrink back under the burning intensity of her glare. "I did not need your assistance!"

He ignored her rebuke, "Where's Daveth?"

At this, Anouk gave a harsh laugh. "The Warden-Lieutenant relieved him of his morning duties early."

"Maker's breath," Alistair sighed, running a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Anouk. As soon as Duncan comes back, this won't happen again."

"Save your hollow apology for someone who will believe it!" she snapped. "I do not expect kindness from you or yours, _nagoligvna_!"

Anouk then violently shoved herself to her feet and stormed off without so much as a backward glance to him. Alistair remained crouched for a moment still hearing her harsh words ringing in his ears as he vaguely wondered what exactly Anouk had just called him. Slowly, Alistair stood watching Anouk's frame become smaller with her distance from him.

Clearly everything Alistair had thought when he awoke was wrong; Anouk still grouped him with everyone who mistreated her. One night of civil conversation was not enough to grant him even an inch of her trust. Had he imagined the small sense of understanding they seemed to have reached the night before? Alistair hoped not.

With a final look to the two overturned buckets, Alistair turned and headed toward the mess tent hoping Duncan had returned already.

.

.

Anouk was rapidly coming to realize that she _hated_ this place.

She hated walking around a fortress that was originally meant to keep her people from entering the northern lands, a place that reminded her she would never be accepted anywhere outside the Wilds. She hated the soldiers who looked down their noses at her, spit at and insulted her because of their cultural differences. And she loathed that she could not respond to any insult or action taken against her all because she was utterly alone - a single Chasind in a camp of Fereldens, outnumbered at least a few thousand to one.

They dared label her a savage and barbarian? So far, the only barbaric actions Anouk had seen were inflicted against her by the very people who called _her_ 'uncivilized'.

She was even beginning to hate Alistair.

He was the only person in the camp aside from Duncan who treated her with a shred of decency and Anouk hated him for it; hated him because she knew his kindness was only a result of Duncan charging him with looking after her. Would Alistair still be so forthcoming, still approach her of his own volition had Duncan not given him his task? Anouk somehow doubted it. She had seen how Alistair acted within the company of the other Wardens - overly agreeable and eager to please, as though he were trying to earn their approval, desperate to fit in.

Anouk sighed heavily, dropping onto a bench and pushing back her fly away strands of hair. Her forearms burned and her heart still raced from the anger rushing through her veins. That soldier who tripped her was more than lucky Alistair happened to step in when he did because Anouk had just about reached her breaking point.

She dabbed at her split lip thinking how badly she wanted to be angry with Daveth as well, but she had to give the rogue credit - he did try to insist he finish his morning duties. But the Warden-Lieutenant fervidly insisted Daveth join the Wardens for breakfast and as Daveth was led away, he had the decency to look back, his expression twisting apologetically.

The Warden-Lieutenant, on the other hand, had acted as if she wasn't even there.

Anouk felt the woman's presence the moment she was there, but made no move to acknowledge that she knew the woman was coming up from behind. She felt no immediate threat from her presence and watched curiously as the white-haired woman took the bench across the way from where Anouk was sitting. The older woman regarded Anouk gently though with open curiosity. She wore the strangest attire, but it reminded Anouk of the long robes she had seen on the Chantry missionaries who sometimes came to her village.

"I know your people do not give their names freely; my name is Wynne," the woman said, surprising Anouk because she was the first person who did not automatically assume there was a severe language barrier between them. "Are you all right?"

"How did you know I would not give my name without yours?" Anouk wondered.

"The Circle's library is very extensive," Wynne replied simply.

Anouk nodded though she did not know what 'the circle' was. "I am called Anouk."

Wynne nodded, holding out her hands and gesturing to Anouk's scraped forearms, "May I?"

Hesitantly, Anouk held out her arms to Wynne, ready in an instant to jerk them back. The old woman tenderly took Anouk's forearms and turned each one over in her hands which didn't quite show the same signs of aging as her face. The air in the immediate vicinity filled with the lightning feel and thunderstorm smell of magic as the hair all along Anouk's arms raised to their ends and the stinging pain slowly vanished. She felt her eyes widen watching the skill in Wynne's hands as they moved over the raw flesh, sealing itself back together at her touch, how her fingers glowed with just a gentle brush of the power that resided in her.

"I understand now, you are _adawehi_," Anouk told Wynne, taking back her arms to inspect the newly healed skin. Wynne's eyebrows slanted together in confusionand Anouk closed her eyes, struggling to recall the term Wynne knew. "Uhm... A may… mage! You are a mage."

"Ah," Wynne intoned. "Yes, I am a mage. Do your people have many mages?"

Anouk shook her head causing the beads and charms in her hair to clink together. "_Tla_. The only mages in a single village is the _Ganagati_ and their _adeloquasgi… _The Shaman and their student."

Wynne asked Anouk a few more questions about magic in the Chasind tribes, which she answered as best she could. Through their conversation Anouk came to like Wynne; it was nice to meet someone in the camp who was genuinely interested in what she had to say and what she knew. The Circle mage treated the Chasind wilder as an equal, something Anouk thought she would never experience with anyone in the camp.

Anouk asked questions of her own in return, inquiring about the Circle Wynne had mentioned, what she knew of the Dark Ones, of the Grey Wardens and many more topics. Wynne replied to all of her questions with the skill and patience of a teacher whetting the intellectual appetite of an overly curious student. The world beyond the Wilds, the customs and rules were all things Anouk knew little about. The only experience Anouk had in Ferelden were from times when she accompanied her village's merchant to the small town of Lothering as a guard.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

The two women turned to the new voice that had approached their conversation and Anouk let out a relieved sigh seeing Duncan. He passed his amused gaze over the two of them, seeming pleased that Anouk had finally found someone to talk to.

"Of course not Duncan, Anouk was just indulging an old woman's curiosity," Wynne replied with a smile. "She is a wonderful girl, I believe she'll make a great Warden."

Duncan nodded, "As do I." The Warden-Commander then turned to Anouk, "I apologize for having to pull you away, but we require your presence in the training yard."

Anouk stood from the bench before regarding Wynne once more. "I appreciate all you've done for me, Wynne."

The old woman smiled at her, "It was my pleasure."

They bid Wynne their final good-byes and began walking toward the training yard. Duncan told Anouk of his time in Redcliffe and how he had found another recruit, one of Arl Eamon's knights named Ser Jory. He then informed her that he would only be staying in camp a few days because he had heard of another promising recruit.

"Alistair tells me you haven't been speaking to anyone," Duncan commented finally.

"He speaks the truth," she replied. "Though I did speak to him last night."

Duncan made a humming noise, "I understand that you are alone here, Anouk, but if we are to defeat the Blight we must _all_ put aside our differences and cooperate, and I hope that from now on you will be an example of that."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, unable to keep the wryness from her voice. "Did you also give the same speech to the other Wardens and the soldiers? And let me not forget those of your Chantry who make the sign of their god every time I pass. _I_ am not the issue here, the ignorance your society breeds and cultivates _is_."

"Unfortunately, I readily agree with you," Duncan sighed, "which is why _you_ must be the better for it."

.

.

"And here's Duncan with Wilder."

Alistair looked up from sharpening his sword at Marq's comment. Anouk and Duncan were indeed walking into the training yard and he vaguely wondered what they had been talking about because Anouk's expression was pinched in annoyance.

The two approached the new recruit Duncan brought with him from Redcliffe, and the Warden-Commander seemed to handle the introductions to avoid a cultural barrier. Ser Jory nodded to Anouk and held out his hand to her, and Alistair bit back his laugh watching the confused expression pass across her features as she simply stared at his hand. He remembered that she had done precisely the same thing when Duncan introduced the two of them.

Jory dropped his hand awkwardly, his round face flushing under Anouk's stare. The two recruits followed behind Duncan as they strode through the training yard, listening to him speak as they did, ignoring the silence that had fallen over the other Wardens assembled, punctured only by broken and scattered whispering.

Alistair stood and sheathed his sword as Duncan came to stop in front of the sparring ring. He saw many of the Wardens look anxiously at one another as eager smiles began to spread across their faces. He could not hear what Duncan was saying, but he could clearly see the annoyed expression on Anouk's face quickly turn into one of barely contained contempt. And when Duncan gestured for Jory and Anouk to enter the sparring ring, many of the Wardens abandoned their previous occupations to surround the ring.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Duncan?" Alistair asked, coming to stand beside him.

Duncan shrugged, but did not answer, merely cast Alistair a small, yet all-knowing grin.

His attention was brought back to the ring when he heard several cat-calls, and promptly felt his face flush watching Anouk stretch languidly. It was the first time he took a moment to admire her thin figure, the small and supple curves that she exposed as she stretched, causing the other men to hoot and holler. But Alistair, fancying himself a gentleman, quickly averted his gaze somehow feeling the crimson on his cheeks descend over his jaw to redden his neck as well.

Jory and Anouk circled for a long while each waiting for the other to attack first, each occasionally readjusting their hold on their practice weapons. Jory had the advantage of range with the greatsword, but at the cost of speed while Anouk was just the opposite, owning the advantage of speed given her slim build and dual hand axes. It was a test of their patience, the circling, a mind game as it were as they searched for their opponent's weak spots.

When the fight finally started, no one expected what they saw. Jory fully used his strength and size to his advantage, pushing at Anouk again and again, putting her on the defensive. But Anouk had a knack for simply _not being there_ when Jory's sword finished its follow through. She dodged, rolled, twirled out of the path of his blade with all the grace of a dancer, fully making use of the sparring ring's space.

Anouk seemed to possess a boundless energy and Alistair quickly realized her strategy - she was tiring him out, making Jory spend his reserves of energy chasing her down. Finally, Anouk gained her own advantage as the knight tired. She fought with all the ferocity of a wild animal, relentless and single-minded. Each blow's intention was to stun, to hinder and maim; each step in Jory's territory was meant to break through defenses and intimidate, making him stumble and give up his footing.

It was a spectacular show of skill between the two Warden recruits and perhaps that was Duncan's intention sending them into the ring; to _show_ that he had chosen his recruits well instead of vocalizing his confidence in them. From the way the crowd mumbled and muttered in excitement, it seemed Duncan's strategy worked. Alistair heard the surprise in his fellow Wardens' voices as they pointed out Anouk's technique and her strengths - some of them had even begun to cheer her on.

Anouk allowed Jory to put her on the defensive again, but it didn't last long. The audience fell into an expectant hush, seeming to hold its breath in the final moves of the fight. For the first time in the fight, Anouk turned her back on Jory, which Alistair didn't understand because he was _so close_. Then, in an instant, she dropped to the ground and shoved herself backward, sliding on the ground and through the wide opening of Jory's legs while he was in mid-swing. She dropped one axe as she jumped to her feet, wrapping her free arm around Jory's head and wrenching it back before she placed the blade against his throat.

"I yield," Jory announced after a moment, panting and out of breath. Anouk nodded, accepting his defeat and took a step back from him.

The Wardens around Alistair had fallen completely silent in their shock and Alistair took notice of the proud smile that had taken residence on his mentor's grizzled features. Anouk's eyes immediately found his in the crowd when he began to applaud, and as the Wardens hesitantly joined, Anouk granted him a wide self-satisfied smile that he fully returned.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay chapter three! This was actually supposed to be out yesterday,<br>but ADD kicks my ass on a regular basis, I'm sorry. **

**So you may have noticed that there are some terms you probably  
>don't recognize, and surely you thought I simply made them up.<br>As much fun as that would be, I did not. I'm borrowing Chasind  
>language from the Cherokee. <strong>

**So here are translations: **

**nagoligvna - stranger**

**adawehi - magician [they don't have a word for "mage", and I  
>didn't want to use the term for "witch" because I imagine a witch as being<br>female, so I used magician which I figure can be gender ambivilant]**

**tla - no**

**ganagati - doctor [they also don't have a word for "shaman", but the way I  
><strong>**imagine it a shaman is the tribe's healer/spiritual leader/storyteller]**

**adeloquasgi - student**

**Next, I would like to thank everyone whow reviewed last chapter!  
>karinfan123, xseikax, Judy and Jobless Josh. Thank you guys so<br>much, it's nice to know you're enjoying my little brain-child so far!**

**Please let me know what you thought and I'll see you next chapter!**

**-(gxr)-**

**EDITED: 12/21**


	4. IV

**Wilder**

.

.

**IV**

.

.

The night before Duncan was meant to return to Ostagar again, they attacked. The Wardens knew first of course, all rising with a start, rushing from their tents in various states of half-dress and weapons at the ready. They rushed through the camp, waking every soldier with their urgent shouts and warnings. And while the Wardens roused the commanding officers and the soldiers, the Warden-Lieutenant went to wake Teyrn Loghain and the King so that they might be ready when the darkspawn came.

Despite the urgent cacophony of movement around the camp, there was a moment of impenetrable silence, a moment that Alistair felt crush him with dread. Then, came the chaos. The wooden gates exploded in a cloud of splinters and debris, darkspawn flooded into the camp; the air suddenly filled with the metallic song of blades and thrumming overtures of arrows.

It was the barking of the mabari, the feel of one of the hulking beasts running past him that made Alistair jolt into reality once again. He drew his sword and donned his shield with practiced ease, engaging the creature nearest him and Alistair lost the world. He focused singularly on survival, on the deadly sweep of his sword and the sureness of his steps. When an enemy's blade slipped past his defenses, Alistair did not allow himself to dwell on the pain, instead as per his training he felt it momentarily with an inhaling breath and released it with an exhale, enabling himself not to slow.

He was so engaged with his blade that he was not ready for the emissary. Alistair felt the magic press against him, felt the electricity of it crackle along his skin and his senses and the foul taste of it on his tongue, but he could not dispel the emissary's magic without disengaging his blade and being dealt a serious injury. He couldn't do anything against the spell when it hit him, his entire being froze within the confines of the magical prison. He felt like he was being pressed against from all sides, the pressure increasing the longer he was confined, and his breath was coming in uneven gasps - it was impossible to draw enough air into his lungs.

Alistair's vision was just starting to go black, fading from the edges when he heard someone call his name. And when the unimaginable pressure vanished, he fell to the ground his legs unprepared to bear his weight and he sent a silent prayer to the Maker as he sat up. The emissary sputtered and gagged as it dropped to the ground, choking on an arrow's tip. Relieved, Alistair looked up to his savior as Anouk stepped over the body, slinging her bow around her shoulder.

Like so many of the other soldiers, Anouk must not have had time to put on her armor for the only thing she wore was the simple deerskin dress she slept in now ruined due to bloodstains and rips, and the belt holding her hatchets. When she crouched down beside him, Alistair noticed the long cut marring her cheek and felt his heart stutter in his chest because he could see the edges of the wound already turning black with taint.

"By the Void, why are you not wearing any armor? Are you trying to get yourself killed!" he called over the din.

Anouk shook her head, "Now is not the time for discussion, Alistair, there is a battle afoot."

And Alistair saw something different in her eyes as she spoke. He did not see the contempt and impassiveness he had come to know and expect from her over the weeks in Ostagar. If only for a moment, Alistair thought he saw a flicker of who Anouk might have been in the Wilds among her tribe - bright and lively, and determined; a soul who found its thrills in the danger and pace of battle.

Anouk squeezed his shoulder as she stood and before he could turn to follow her path, she had disappeared into the chaos.

.

.

Alistair embedded the tip of his sword in the dirt as he dropped to one knee, panting. How long had he been fighting? The sun had not yet risen beyond the distant horizon, but lingered just beneath it casting everything in soft, muted gold light. The battle had to have raged on for hours at the least. He could hear the cheers and shouts as the last of the darkspawn fell or fled the camp, but everywhere Alistair looked he saw bodies, human and darkspawn alike - he counted his blessings that he was not among them.

Now that the battle was over, Alistair's body positively _ached_. Muscle protested every move he made as he rose to his feet and the damage he had taken during the battle, that he had forced himself to ignore, was making itself known in the colored spots that appeared before his eyes. He sheathed his sword and put away his shield before wiping the rivulets of sweat from his face and pushing his damp hair from his forehead.

He heard the Warden-Leiutenant's voice call out to the Wardens to begin the purge of the darkspawn corpses before their taint had time to spread. The chore of cleaning up after the battle began. The Circle mages, though battle weary, moved through the camp healing those who required it and easing the aches and pains of many others. The Chantry sisters, too, stepped lightly through the detritus doing their best not to look down at the ravaged bodies, commending soldiers who had fallen to the Maker as they went along.

Alistair set about the task of finding what became of the Warden recruits, hoping that none of them had fallen in the battle. It didn't take him long to find Daveth, being taken care of by one of the Circle mages and, despite the blood oozing from a wound in his thigh, trying to flirt with her. The young woman merely set her jaw and used more pressure than was probably needed on the wound making the rogue yell in pain.

"Well that was fun," Daveth commented, looking to Alistair. "Can't say I'd like to do it again though."

"That was only a taste of what being a Warden is like, sure you still want to join?" Alistair asked him.

Daveth paused, considering. "If it'll stop the Blight then yes."

Alistair nodded his approval, clapping a hand on Daveth's shoulder. "Have you seen Ser Jory and Anouk?"

"I should think ser knight is praying with the Chantry sisters if he survived," he answered. "As for Wilder, I'm not sure."

Alistair nodded again and set off in search of Jory because he imagined that Anouk would be rather more difficult to find. As it turned out, Daveth was right about Jory, Alistair found the Redcliffe knight on his knees praying with the Revered Mother alongside a small group of other soldiers. The knight didn't appear to have any serious injuries so Alistair left him, not wishing to interrupt.

However, as Alistair made his way through the camp he still could not find Anouk. Panic began to settle in his nerves and his pace became more brisk, his searching gaze became more frenzied. She had to have been around the camp somewhere… _unless the darkspawn dragged her underground_, the traitorous half of his mind whispered. With a growl Alistair shook the thought from his mind - Anouk was skilled fighter, she would not have allowed herself to be taken.

The closer he drew to the area where Loghain and Cailan's respective tents were, he noticed the atmosphere and attitudes of the people become somehow even more tense. Had Cailan or Loghain been injured in the battle? It seemed unlikely, but Alistair found himself drawn to the small crowd gathering just ahead of him, picking up his pace and pushing through the small throng of people, stopping on a copper when he reached the center. At the center of the ring of people, he found Anouk.

She lay unconscious, her body rapidly losing color despite Loghain's attempts to staunch the blood flow from the gaping wound beneath her navel. Cuts of all shapes and sizes were sketched across her arms and legs, all running red down her skin and, most disconcertingly, _all_ blackening at the edges. Cailan looked on, his face drawn and serious.

The King looked up and around, pausing briefly on Alistair before he shouted, "Where is the damned healer!"

"Here, your Majesty," someone called out, pushing through the crowd.

The Circle mage crouched down and eased Loghain's hands from the wound replacing them with her own. The elderly woman's hands glowed faintly as she inserted them into the wound and began the process of healing Anouk from the inside, out.

"What happened?" the woman wondered, looking to the King.

Cailan's forehead creased and his mouth set into a firm line. "I was almost overwhelmed and she took a blade for me." The mage nodded, returning her attention to Anouk. But Cailan turned his attention to Alistair, "I hear she's a Warden recruit, is it true?"

Alistair nodded, feeling his tongue thicken suddenly and feeling his already hammering heart threaten to burst through his chest. Did Cailan know who he was speaking to? "Yes, Duncan recruited her on his scouting trip. Her village had been destroyed by the darkspawn."

Cailan nodded, turning once again to observe the mage as she finished healing the wound before moving on to the others. Then without looking to Alistair he said, "I want to be informed the moment she awakens."

.

.

Consciousness came to Anouk by degrees. The first thing to regain feeling were her fingers as she curled and flexed them, testing for broken bones. Next, a resounding soreness that she felt down to the marrow of her bones spread up her legs, through her arms then descended across her chest and down her back. She groaned pitifully, the reverberation of the sound making her already dry throat hurt even more.

"It's good to see you stirring, we were beginning to worry."

She opened her eyes and although Anouk was certain that she had been unconscious for some time, her eyes still burned as if she hadn't slept in days. To Anouk's surprise, the Circle mage, Wynne was in the tent with her.

"What happened?" Anouk wondered.

Wynne's eyebrows raised, "Do you not remember the attack?"

The attack, of course. She had been reliving it during her sojourn in the dream realm, continually haunted by creatures with waxy, graying skin stretched to the point of tearing over bone. All she had been able to hear were the indecipherable grunts and shouts. All she had been able to recall was their hot, black blood spraying across her face.

"No, I remember the attack," Anouk replied.

Wynne nodded, picking up a brass pitcher and filling a crude cup with water before crossing to the cot where Anouk was seated. "Do you remember saving the King?"

Anouk took the proffered cup, taking a long sip savoring the cool liquid against her burning insides. "I recall taking a blade for someone, but whether it was a king or otherwise, I cannot say."

Wynne nodded and explained, "You saved the King's life almost at the cost of your own. It took nearly all of my mana to heal you, but by the Maker's grace I was able to do so."

"Then why do I still feel so miserable?" she asked, her voice weak.

Anouk watched the expression on Wynne's face close off and become unreadable. "I should let Duncan know you've regained consciousness."

Before Anouk could ask another question, Wynne left the tent. She laid back down, kicking away the blanket someone had provided for her. She felt her skin coated in a cold sweat, and yet her body burned with fever underneath. Everything in her vision swam and there was a lightness to her head. All she wished to do was sleep.

Duncan's voice cut through the silence of the tent when he entered. "It's good to see you awake."

Anouk sighed, rolling her body to a sitting position. "Wynne said she healed me, but I don't feel very well."

"Yes, well…" Duncan trailed off with a sigh. "You fell quite ill after the battle, that you survived at all is a miracle, very few do."

Her stomach clenched; she knew what it meant to fall ill after a battle with the Dark Ones. She had contracted their disease, their corruption coursed through her body blackening and corroding every inch of her even now. The corruption was a death sentence she knew, even sheltered in the Wilds as she was. She had seen the disease take many of her tribesmen over the course of her life, it was a slow process, painful and torturous. She'd seen her father order the death of those suffering from it to quicken them, had heard Duncan give the order to kill those showing signs of it the night her village was destroyed.

"Will you end it quickly then?" she wondered quietly. "I would rather die while my mind is still my own."

"No." Duncan said. She looked up, startled at his answer and the firmness of his tone. Why would he not grant her the swift death he'd afforded others? "You are still a Warden recruit, the Joining offers a… cure to the corruption within you."

"A cure?"

The Warden-Commander nodded, "Yes. Ready yourself and we can begin preparing for the Joining."

Anouk nodded, began reaching for her armor as Duncan turned to leave the tent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of color as the flap closed, and heard the startled halt of Duncan's footsteps. Curious, Anouk slowed her movements in time to hear Duncan, "Your Majesty?"

"Ho there Duncan!"

"Were you looking for me?"

"Oh no, I wanted to be informed when your recruit woke, how does she fare?"

She heard Duncan sigh and she imagined that he crossed his arms over his chest. "Her wounds are gone, but I imagine that she's felt better."

"I would like to speak with the woman who saved my life."

Duncan said nothing for a moment, and Anouk found herself holding her breath as he considered. "It is not up to me whether she will speak with you, she -"

"Is Chasind, I've heard. It's difficult not to, she's caused quite the stir."

"Yes, your Majesty, however that is not what I was going to say. Forgive me for saying this but while you are King of Ferelden, she is not one of your subjects, therefore you cannot expect her to act like one," Duncan told the other man.

"I'll take it under advisement. Thank you, Duncan."

Anouk heard Duncan's footsteps retreating and busied herself with readying her armor as the tent opened behind her. She drew the light tunic over her head and tossed it aside, before reaching for her light padding. The man who entered said nothing right away, simply stood behind her. She waited to feel his roaming gaze as she made a show of separating her armor pieces, but to her shock it never came.

"Most people bow when I come into a room," he said, but she could hear the smile in his tone.

"As far as I can tell, this is a tent and not a room," Anouk replied briskly. At the moment she had not the temper for his banter, nor the patience to pretend she did.

He laughed, a warm, rich sound. "Well met. Can I know the name of the woman who took a darkspawn blade for me?"

Anouk slid on her hardened leather bustier, fastening the buckles under her arms as she turned around. The man standing before her was much as she was expecting, confident and bold. He looked at her not with the hesitant civility Anouk encountered so far, but with genuine amity. He did not unconsciously turn his body away as though he were expectant of an attack and he did not carry a weapon into the tent, which was a curious thing considering that many of the soldier's reached for their sword hilts when she passed.

"If you knew anything of my people, you would know that you must give me your name before you can have mine."

"Why is that?" he asked, his blue eyes wide in genuine curiosity.

"There is a certain power that comes from knowing a name," Anouk replied. "There is also a certain weakness in giving your own."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he replied.

"… You are the King of Ferelden, are you not?" she asked, tying the wolf's pelt over the plated skirt. The man nodded, but she watched his eyes narrow in suspicion. "I do not envy you. Many people know your name, and when you finally pass on, those many people will still speak your name and call your spirit back to this world. You will never find an eternal rest."

The King considered her words for a moment. "So when someone dies, you never speak their name again?"

"No." She said it in a whisper, but that one word spoke volumes to the festering sorrow Anouk kept close to her heart at the loss of her tribe. She would never again feel her mouth form around the sound of her father's name, never again feel the rush that, if only for a short time, was associated with speaking Taoimah's name.

"Interesting. Well, in any case, my name is Cailan."

She granted him a quirk of her lips that was meant to be a smile. "I am Anouk."

Cailan took a few steps forward, burying a hand in the front pocket of his jerkin. "I wanted to thank you for saving my life."

Anouk shook her head, "No need. It was a rash decision."

"All the same, I thank you," he insisted. Cailan then handed her an amulet. It was light, cast in gold with a braided pattern around the edge. The center of the charm was charged with a chevron, surmounted by a crown with rampant dogs on either side. "For service to the crown, under normal circumstances there would be a great ceremony before you received that, but these are hardly normal circumstances," Cailan shrugged then, "… It might not mean much to your people, but you're a hero."

Anouk could not help the derisive chuckle that pressed through her lips. "Heroism often proves to be fatal."

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, here's chapter four! <strong>

**I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter, we'll be heading into the Wilds  
>and preparing for the Joining and depending on how long-winded<br>I am perhaps even the Joining itself. **

**And I also have a question to pose to everyone. Surely, you noticed  
>last chapter that it was mentioned that Duncan was going to be<br>leaving Ostagar again in search of another recruit. I've been torn  
>on him actually recruiting one of the Origins Wardens from the<br>game, or him being too late to recruit them. **

**On one hand, I'd like to have one of the game Origins. On the  
>other, Anouk <em>is<em> the Warden in this story, and I don't want  
>her authority as such undermined. I can have it go either way<br>right now, but I'd like to know what you think? **

**Thank you everyone who reviewed last chapter, I really appreciate it!  
>karinfan123, Jobless Josh, Rose Tinted Contact Lenses, and Judy -<br>Thank you guys so much! **

**See you later! **

**-(gxr)-**

**EDITED: 12/21/11**


	5. V

**Wilder**

.

.

**V**

.

.

Anouk felt like there was a coil of snakes in her stomach as she approached the pyre where Duncan was standing, talking to the other recruits. She felt it twist and write, threatening to double her over and expel anything that was in her stomach. Her limbs were heavy with aching muscles making her movements feel sluggish and the edges of her vision were turning fuzzy.

"_Unequa_, give me the strength," she mumbled to herself, lifting her head.

Duncan called out to her, raising his hand in greeting which Anouk returned weakly. Eight eyes turned toward her, six regarding her with familiarity, and two with blank detachment. And while the last member of the group was assessing her, so was she assessing him. The unfamiliar man standing beside Alistair was exactly his opposite - dark where Alistair was light, and he stood like a creature ready to pounce, perpetually tense and paranoid.

When their eyes met something flashed through the man's gaze and Anouk saw a grief quite like her own reflected back to her. Like Anouk, the price of his recruitment to the Grey Wardens did not come without its scars. The tense hunch to his shoulders matched the one she'd been carrying, the empty stare he held was much the same as the one that greeted others when Anouk looked at them. She wondered if he saw the fear of her sickness bright in her eyes as well as the grief.

"Anouk, this is the new recruit I was telling you about," Duncan said when she came to stand on Alistair's other side. "His name is Dmitri."

The man, Dmitri, turned in her direction allowing her a deeper look into his face. Like herself, like Alistair, the man was young, perhaps within one or two summers of herself but his expression was creased and cracked with deep lines of stress. Though his dark eyes were filled with an unfathomable aching, Anouk found an open and truthfulness much like what she had seen in Duncan's. And for an unexplained reason, although Anouk knew nothing about this man but his name, she felt a kinship of sorts with him.

It was quick exchange of acknowledgement between the two, but Dmitri bowed his head to her surprising Anouk. She had expected that he would attempt to initiate the strange hand greeting so many others tried.

After she nodded in return Dmitri turned back to Duncan, "If we're all here, can we get on with this?"

Duncan nodded obligingly and stepped forward slightly. Anouk listened to Duncan speak wishing she could take several steps away from the heat given off by the pyre behind him. Her skin was already so overwhelmingly hot and she felt sweat blooming at her hairline and under her armor. She felt as though a great blaze was burning through her veins, raging from the very tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.

"And of course, Alistair is going to accompanying you as you carry out these tasks," Duncan said, motioning to Alistair, after he explained they were headed into the Wilds and why.

"There was just a battle with the darkspawn days ago, surely we could have acquired some of their blood," Jory commented.

"Oh surely," Duncan replied with a chuckle, "but this is as much a part of your Joining as what comes after, you must work together to retrieve them."

"What is our second task?" Dmitri wondered.

"Ah, yes, there was a Grey Warden outpost here in the Wilds once and it has recently come to our attention that some scrolls were left behind," he answered. "I doubt whether the tower still stands, but the effort must be made. Alistair should be able to lead you to them, but if I'm correct you know the tower I speak of, Anouk, am I right?"

She nodded, "Yes, but my people were forbidden to venture near it."

"What exactly are these scrolls, if we're allowed to know," Daveth asked.

Duncan crossed his arms, "Old treaties if you must know, promises of support made to the Grey Wardens during Blights. It's been four centuries since the last Blight, I imagine that many have forgotten the commitment they made, it would benefit our cause to have something to remind them."

Daveth snorted derisively, "And no one thought they were a handy thing to take when they cleared out?"

The Warden-Commander sighed, "We believed that we would one day return… Unfortunately many things were believed that have not remained true."

"Four vials of blood and ancient treaties," Dmitri said, considering for a moment. "I think we can handle that."

"Watch over your charges Alistair, and return quickly and _safely_," Duncan told his fellow Warden.

"We will."

.

.

The Dark One's taint had yet to reach the area of the Wilds they entered, but Anouk could tell that it would not be long before it did. She could barely see it at the very edges of the horizon, the stark blackness that threatened the greenery. Already it was in the earth, the ground beneath Anouk's feet was hard, patches of grass during brown and dying. The chill in the air pervaded through her leathers though it was welcome change against the searing heat of her skin. Daveth and Jory took point, Alistair and Dmitri flanked while Anouk brought up the rear, her bow at the ready.

The Wilds were unusually quiet, quieter than they should have been considering the season. She heard no animals moving through the grass, she heard no buzzing of insects - even the trees were silent in the breeze. It was the same unusual and unsettling silence Anouk felt the day the Dark Ones attacked her village.

"Maker's breath!" Jory exclaimed and suddenly stopped.

Anouk turned around abruptly, wondering what caused the party to stop. They had come across what looked like the remains of a scouting party. Bodies were strewn haphazardly everywhere, many of them missing pieces and bearing unsightly teeth marks that belonged to no animal Anouk could name. The blood shone in the sunlight, a startling red against the fresh color of the grass.

Dmitri broke rank and began searching among the corpses, his complexion pale and his expression drawn. He stepped carefully, looking each body deeply in the face and with each one he turned over he looked somehow more relieved and yet, more troubled.

"Help! Someone help! Over here!"

A few yards away was what looked to be the only survivor, but for how much longer the man could make such a claim was unclear. He lay in a steadily growing pool of his own blood, his weapon missing and his armor bearing the signs of strenuous battle. Clearly, his party had been overwhelmed completely.

"What happened, man?" Alistair asked, crouching down.

The soldier groaned pitifully, "My scouting party was attacked, we didn't stand a chance. Please, I need to get back to camp."

"You said you were scouting?" Dmitri demanded, having finished looking among the bodies. "Tell me, was my brother Fergus one of your number?"

The man shook his head, "I cannot be sure. I knew so few of their names."

"If you are unable to make it back on your own, we can assist you, it is not far," Anouk assured him.

He shook his head again, "If you'd just bandage me up, I think I could make it back."

"I've got some bandages in my pack," Alistair told him, reaching around and pulling his pack from his shoulders.

After Alistair finished bandaging him, Anouk helped the soldier to his feet. She doubted he would make it back to camp at all, his face was pale from blood loss and he leaned the majority of his weight against her. Thanking them for their help, the soldier began to slowly limp away in the same direction they had just come from, leaving the party standing amid the carnage of his scouting band and Anouk's palms red with blood.

She turned to her companions seeing her own troubled expression reflected back to her. Jory looked after the soldier, the indecision of whether to follow him or continue on bright in the shifting of his eyes. "Did you hear what he said?" Jory cried, coming to face Alistair, "A whole patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

Alistair laid a gauntleted hand on Jory's soldier. "Peace, Ser Jory. There are darkspawn about, but we run no risk of encountering the bulk of the horde, this is the reason I am accompanying you, the… unique nature of the Grey Wardens allows us to sense the darkspawn."

Anouk did not hear the rest of Jory and Alistair's exchange. There was a whispering against her mind, like an itch in her brain and before the rational half of her mind could catch up, or even comprehend what she was doing, Anouk turned and took several steps from her party which quickly evolved into running. Something was calling to her blood, buzzing through her veins like a trapped wasp and the closer she got to the source the more the heat in her skin was sated, the more the fever in her blood was cooled and the buzzing evolved into a pleasant hum.

She heard someone cry out behind her and a tremendous force slammed into her back effectively knocking all the air from her lungs and sending her sprawling fantastically to the ground. Above and around her she heard the orchestra of battle, the clashing of the metal ringing in her ears as she tried desperately to catch her breath. All at once the alluring whispers in her head turned to screams and cries leaving her with an aching pound behind her eyes.

Rolling over, Anouk allowed Alistair's troubled features to come into focus above her. He was the only one of their party who carried a shield and the only one who could have shoved her to the ground with the force she felt. It explained the expanse of her back that Anouk could feel bruising. Alistair helped her shakily to her feet and she looked around seeing the darkspawn corpses in the ends of their death throes and her companions covered in various degrees of gore. The temperature of her blood had intensified and her muscles were now twitching and shaking.

Her sickness was rapidly getting worse - her father would have already called for her death if she were among her tribe. Panic and fear made her eyes water, though she forced down the abrupt lump that rose in her throat. Would she even make it back to Ostagar before the taint took her completely?

"What the Void just happened!" Dmitri demanded loudly. His first encounter with the darkspawn had clearly unsettled his nerves.

"There was a battle with the darkspawn just before you arrived," Anouk told him, "I fell ill afterward."

"Sick with what, exactly?" Jory wondered.

"The blight," Alistair answered for her, "the darkspawn's blood is poisonous to us and they coat their weapons in it. Many of the soldiers didn't have time to put on their armor before the last battle and Anouk's wounds were extensive."

"And just what does that have to do with running off toward them?" Daveth asked.

"It's part of the illness," Alistair replied. "Those that survive the initial taint of coming into contact with it become ghouls. It drives them to seek out the darkspawn."

"That's just wonderful," Dmitri sighed, though he eyed Anouk warily. He turned on his heel muttering darkly to himself, crossing to the nearest darkspawn corpse to fill his vial.

Alistair turned toward Anouk, placing his hand on her shoulder, "Are you going to be able to continue?"

Anouk nodded, "I was not aware that I was given a choice." She brought her eyes to his, "If the corruption within me gets worse, you must end me Alistair."

"Anouk, I -"

"You must!" She insisted halting the refusal, gripping him by the arm.

She had startled him with her insistence, and Anouk saw something flicker through his gaze that she could not name - something dark and damning that made him avert his gaze. "Alright."

"_Wah doe… _I... thank you."

They continued on their journey through the Wilds, occasionally dispatching straggling groups of darkspawn and to Anouk's great surprise a few untainted wolves. Anouk was both relieved and disturbed that she did not have another episode because she doubted Alistair would have the fortitude to give her the death she asked for. By the time they reached the tower with their respective vials of blood, the sun was beginning to set and the group of five all had at least one cut or laceration that was bandaged and bleeding through.

The tower they were looking for was a tower no longer, it had collapsed on itself long before Anouk was born, but she felt her muscles pull taut as they neared it. Her father forbid the village from going near it for fear of Flemeth, for it was in close proximity to where they believed she resided and they did not want to risk angering her. The tower was nothing more than a crumbling, overgrown ruin and Anouk remembered how when she was young she imagined what it once looked like - a marvel to be sure, reaching toward the sky, the stone white against the greenery of the Wilds. But the stone had grayed with passing years, and the Wilds had shown precisely who was sovereign here; vines crept and climbed over stone refusing to relinquish its hold.

"Damn," she heard Alistair mutter under his breath. "It should be right here."

Dmitri who was standing beside Anouk rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Did you really expect it to be sitting around? There has to be an entrance into the tower somewhere around here."

"You're right. Spread out, but keep within eyesight of one another," Alistair called out.

They did as he said, scouring through the underbrush and overgrown thickets, moving what rubble and debris they could to find any hint of what could have passed as an entrance. The effort of searching seemed to tire Anouk even more, she felt the perspiration on her neck and face double as her breathing became labored. She was nearly on the verge of collapse when she heard Daveth cry out followed by a very eloquent, "Son of a bitch! Over here!"

They followed his voice to a hole in the ground where the ancient stone, unable to bear his weight, had given way. He looked up at them from at least two stories below bearing a new scrape above his eye that was running red down his face.

"Are you all right?" Anouk called down to him.

He glared at her, "Oh, wonderful. I love when the ground gives out underneath me. Love the feeling it gives me in my tummy."

"Is there a way for you to get out?" Alistair asked him.

"Yeah, I can see you're concerned about me," Daveth snorted before disappearing from the circle of light provided by the hole.

They waited a few minutes until they heard Daveth beckoning them from behind. The rogue had managed to navigate himself out and find a usable entrance that led to the lower levels of the tower that once was. Following Alistair through the underground corridors was a little nerve racking. Being underground with the musty air, the wet smell of mud and venturing into rooms and passages that no one had traversed in so many years send a chill down Anouk's spine.

When Alistair finally found the room where the cache was, he stopped. "No, this can't be," he said under his breath.

Coming to stand beside him, Anouk saw the remains of what was once a large gilded chest crushed beneath the rubble of a collapsed wall. Daveth and Jory stepped forward and began moving the rubble, pushing and pulling the stone to reveal the full gutted carcass of the crushed chest. It looked as though anything that was in it had long since been removed or destroyed.

"Looks like we came out here for nothing," Jory commented, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"The effort had to be made," Alistair replied with a sigh as he stood. "Now we only have to hope they truly hadn't forgotten their promises."

A little disheartened, feeling as though they had failed Duncan, they headed out toward the surface once again. When the party emerged they paused to discuss what their next move was; no one wanted to return to Duncan empty handed, and yet their other task was already completed.

The hair on Anouk's arms raised as her skin pebbled with goosebumps, sensing the presence of another. In one motion, Anouk drew her bow, turned and had it loaded with an arrow aimed at the stranger hiding in the shadow of an archway. It took Anouk a moment, but she felt her eyes widen finding the familiar features of a long forgotten friend in the beautifully dark features of the woman as she descended.

"And just what do we have here? Vultures in search of carrion to feast upon, but finding a corpse whose bones are long since picked clean? Or are you simply intruders, who've come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine."

She seemed not to recognize Anouk right away as she breezed through the group, having the audacity to lay her hand on Anouk's bow. Her eyes met Anouk's, the same unsettling shade of gold that she remembered.

"What say you? Scavenger or intruder?"

"No one answer her," Dmitri hissed. "She looks Chasind… more may be nearby."

Anouk felt the prick of irritation. "_I_ am Chasind, she and I appear nothing alike!"

Anouk was right of course, the two women looked nothing alike. Anouk's skin was weathered and tan where the other woman's was as pale as fresh snow. And although both woman had dark hair, Anouk's shone with warm hues of red and chestnut, and the other's was black as a raven's wing. Dmitri turned his shocked gaze to her as though he were looking at her for the first time. Did no one tell him that she was of the Chasind?

"… Anouk? Is it truly you? I would have thought you perished with the rest of your village."

Anouk turned her attention back to the woman, nodding once. "_Asiyu_, Morrigan. I was recruited by the Grey Wardens before I shared the fate of my tribe."

"So I see," Morrigan cooed.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" Daveth exclaimed.

Morrigan chucked, "Witch of the Wilds, such idle fancies those legens, am I to guess Anouk told you to beware of them? Have you no minds of your own?"

"Enough of your games Morrigan," Anouk scolded her.

The Wilds girl t'sked and rolled her eyes. "Very well. Shall I guess your purpose for having come this far into the Wilds? Hmm… You sought something… something that is here no longer."

Alistair took a step forward, "_Here no longer_? You stole them didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!"

Anouk could not help but roll her eyes alongside Morrigan and when she spoke her silky voice had sardonic laughter in it. "How very eloquent. Tell me: how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them!" Alistair demanded, pointing a finger at her.

She merely crossed her arms and sat on one hip, "I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them." Morrigan waved her hand dismissively before she continued, "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish, I am not so easily threatened."

"Then who took them?" Dmitri asked.

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Your mother?" Dmitri nearly choked on the word.

"Yes, my mother," Morrigan replied, dragging out the word 'mother' as if he hadn't heard her the first time. "Did you assume I spawned from a log?"

"A thieving, weird talking log, perhaps," Alistair muttered under his breath.

Morrigan sighed with a touch of impatience, "Not all in the Wilds are monsters, flowers grow as well as toads."

Anouk gulped heavily before asking her next question, "Can you take us to her?"

Her old friend regarded Anouk for a long moment, her gaze making her skin crawl. Finally, she nodded, "Follow me, if it pleases you." Then she turned and disappeared into the tall grass.

"You know her?" Jory asked.

"We were friends once, before we knew and understood what the other was. We were barely six or seven summers - children," Anouk replied. "My father found us playing in these ruins and he knew her for what she was immediately. I am the reason he forbid the tribe from venturing near them."

With a sigh and last look around, Anouk steeled herself before following Morrigan. She was not looking forward to a meeting with the true Witch of the Wilds.

* * *

><p><strong>Obviously I've chosen to include one of the original<br>Origins from the game, that being a Male Cousland.  
>Here's my reasoning why - Anouk is obviously Chasind,<br>she knows almost nothing about Thedas having only traveled  
>as far as Lothering. And as much help as Alistair is, I don't see<br>it being enough for Anouk, so I chose the Human Noble  
>who is more well educated than Alistair to help her. And while<br>the other companions offer help as well, Anouk will gravitate more  
>toward her fellow Wardens for help. And with a Cousland I can really<br>play up the whole Arl Howe situation which really isn't touched on  
>that much in the other Origins. <strong>

**I tried to keep the game dialogue different/minimal as best I could. :/ **

**Translations: **

**Unequa - Great Spirit**

**Wah doe - Thank you**

**Asiyu - Hello**

**Next chapter we actually are getting to the Joining, I promise!**

**Thank you olivegbg, Rose Tinted Contact Lenses, Judy, karinfan123,  
>and Takami for reviewing the last chapter. I'm glad you guys are<br>enjoying it so far! :) **

**See you next time! **

**-(gxr)- **

**EDITED - 12/21**


	6. VI

**Wilder**

.

.

**VI**

**.**

**.**

"Well that was… interesting," Dmitri muttered as the group walked further into camp.

The sun had long since set and from the position of the moon in the sky it was close to midnight. The large bonfires dotted around the camp sent the area into soft orange light which would have been calming if it weren't for the general sense of unease that permeated the air. If Alistair looked around it wasn't difficult for him to find groups of soldiers laughing and joking with one another, but it was… not quite right, their laughs were too tight, too forced, their gestures were too restricted as if they were holding themselves back, and their smiles didn't quite penetrate the stress darkening their eyes.

"Do you reckon we should tell Duncan about Morrigan and her mother?" Jory wondered.

Anouk shook her head, "It does not matter. We have what we went into the Wilds for, I see no reason to explain _how_ we got them."

"She's right," Dmitri said with a nod. "The treaties aren't tampered with, we weren't turned into toads -" he threw an incredulous smirk to Daveth, "- and we're all alive, so I don't see how it matters."

Alistair was silent ahead of them, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The encounter with Morrigan's mother left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He pondered over the news she shared with them - that the threat of this Blight was worse than anyone was willing to acknowledge. The problem was that he did not know how much weight to give to her words, after all, it wasn't a secret that the army had won several battles against the darkspawn and Morrigan's mother did seem a little… insane.

And then there was Anouk's reaction to the old woman. Alistair had seen her go pale and she refused to step from beyond the back of their group; her hands twitching near her hatchets and occasionally venturing to her wrist to rub a charm on the bracelet she wore there. He cast a glance over his shoulder to the Chasind girl, eyes cast down watching the ground as she walked and clutching to her chest the armor she had managed to find in a Chasind cache. She didn't look good, the sickness was progressing rapidly - he could already see the iridescent shine in her eyes and the pox-like blotches on her skin were becoming more noticeable.

He turned away his eyes finding Duncan as the Warden-Commander called out to them. "You've returned, have you been successful?"

They all came to a stop before Duncan's fire much in the same manner as they had before they left for the Wilds what felt like days ago. It seemed to Alistair that being before Duncan again, knowing that their tasks were complete, all the fervor leaked from the recruits and the four of them looked so worn down and ragged.

"Yes, we have," Dmitri confirmed, holding out his vial of blood.

"Excellent," Duncan said, nodding in approval as he reached for the vial. "I have had the mages preparing, with the blood you've brought back we can begin the Joining immediately."

"Can we know more about this… ritual now?" Anouk wondered, her voice growing weaker. Her cure was in the Joining, her interest in the ritual was more serious than the others'.

Duncan nodded and became solemn, "I shall not lie, the Grey Wardens bear a great burden and pay a heavy price to become what we are, one that not all are willing to pay. It is possible that fate decree you pay your price now rather than later."

His words hung between them for a long second and Alistair was sure that they were wondering if they were translating Duncan's morbid ambiguity correctly. Dmitri regained himself before Jory, Daveth, and Anouk. "I'm sorry… you're saying this ritual could _kill_ us? " he asked, his voice laced with equal amounts of apprehension and outrage.

"As could any darkspawn you might face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive."

"Let's go, then," Daveth said at length. "I'm anxious to see this Joining now."

"I agree," said Jory. "Let's have it done."

"Then let us begin." Duncan announced with a nod. "Alistair, take them to the old temple and I shall join you when everything is ready."

.

.

The din of conversation buzzed around Anouk as she paced. If she stopped moving for even a moment, Anouk feared that for all the nervous energy coursing through her, that her body would attempt to flee in every direction at once, tearing her apart.

She was not ready to die. She was not ready for it the day death was heavy in the air the night her village perished, and she was not ready for it now. She mumbled under her breath as she paced, ten steps one way and ten steps back, asking for inner peace, for strength, for her mind to be calm and her hands steady. But it would not do, her words were not reaching the Great Spirit.

The hand that came on the back of her shoulder nearly caused Anouk's heart to fail. She spun, arm outstretched as she gripped the hand on her shoulder, but Alistair's free hand caught Anouk's wrist before her fist made contact. "I hadn't meant to scare you," he said.

Anouk dropped her hand, took a step back and hissed, "Most people do not find it so easy to startle me, I wouldn't suggest trying a second time."

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay," Alistair said, offering her a friendly smile.

She made a noise at the back of her throat and crossed her arms. "I've learned that this could kill me, I am not exactly… anxious for it." Alistair nodded and Anouk saw the same dark thing flicker through his gaze before he averted it and self-consciously tucked his body to shy away from her. "… Should you not be comforting me?"

"Would it make you feel better?" he inquired.

Shaking her head she replied, "_Tla_."

He nodded, "I meant to ask you, why do you think Morrigan's mother protected the Grey Warden treaties?"

"Flemeth? I cannot say," Anouk offered. "It could be as she as she says, that the Blight threatens all, but that is only part of it - she is more powerful than you or I can fathom and could easily flee the Wilds. She would not have returned them if she did not have more than a fleeting interest in seeing the Grey Wardens succeed. Flemeth is not known for her kindness, she likely kept them because she saw them being useful to the Grey Wardens and saw the Grey Wardens being useful to _her_ to achieve something _she_ wants."

Alistair nodded thoughtfully processing her words, but as he took a breath to speak Anouk motioned behind him where Duncan was cresting the steps. He turned to look over his shoulder, nodding to Anouk and looking ten years older for the solemnity that overcame his features. As the group gathered around Duncan the only person who looked mildly at ease was Dmitri, but it was a quickly cracking façade considering the puckering between his brows.

"It has not been an easy path to come here, but finally we've come to the Joining," Duncan said, passing through the group. In his hands he held a large, ornately engraved silver chalice; however, the smell emanating over the rim of the cup was foul, bitter and sour.

It smelled of Death.

Anouk heard her heartbeat in her ears, heard it skip a beat now and then from the sickness slowly killing her. She listened to Duncan's speech about the first Grey Wardens and the first Blight. And she felt the blood in her veins freeze over when Duncan told them the first Grey Wardens drank the darkspawn blood, overcame the taint of it in their veins and used the power it gave them to defeat the first Archdemon.

"We're going to drink the blood of those… creatures!" Jory exclaimed, his face paling.

Anouk's outrage on the other hand could not be vocalized. Her protests stayed locked in her throat, but her eyes darted around seeking an exit. She could not - _would not _- willingly take that which destroyed everything she loved into her body. She would not allow the Dark Ones to corrupt her further.

Alistair had strategically placed himself before the stairs and the archway that led back into the camp, without that exit the only escape was for her to fling herself over the ramparts. He was strong Anouk knew, strong enough to overpower her, but he wasn't as fast as Anouk not nearly as agile, could she outmaneuver him? His shield arm was the weak spot, she could hook a hatchet on the edge of his shield, wrench it away possibly breaking his arm in the process. Would they all attempt to stop her or would she find an ally in Jory who had been growing more unsure as the day went on.

"The Grey Wardens have always done what they must to defeat the Blight," Duncan replied by way of justification. "While it is true that not all who drink the blood survive, those that do are forever changed."

"The darkspawn blood allows us to sense their taint in all things, and we can use it to find and kill the Archdemon," Alistair explained from his position.

"This is also why the Joining his a secret - _this _is the price we pay," Duncan finished. He took a breath before he continued, "There are only a few words that are spoken before the Joining, but these words have been said since the first… Alistair, if you would please?"

With a nod, Alistair lowered his head and closed his eyes. He seemed to be steeling himself and when he spoke, his voice was quiet, reverent, almost as though he was saying prayer. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten… and that one day, _we_ shall join _you_."

Alistair's voice died on the wind, but the whisper of his words lingered between them as the recruits took a moment to understand and contemplate. He looked up to Duncan, the expression on his face as akin to a child seeking a parent's approval, searching for any sign that he had done well. The older man gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head and despite the situation Alistair glowed with pride.

"Daveth, step forth," Duncan said, turning to face him.

Daveth took a steadying breath and inched forward just enough to reach out and take the chalice between his shaking fingers before he raised it to his mouth. He swallowed and handed it back to Duncan. Everyone seemed to hold their breath and for a terribly long moment, nothing happened. An arrogant smirk began to pull one corner of Daveth's mouth as he stood a little straighter.

Suddenly, all at once his face crumpled into a mask of pain, his legs could no longer bear his weight. Then, he began to scream and Anouk resisted the urge to clamp her hands to her ears, the sound was surely tearing his vocal chords to shreds; the veins of his neck popped against his skin from the force of it. He clawed at his throat, at the stone ground until there were angry scratches marring his neck, and blood left behind on the stone from his fingertips, from where his fingernails had given way and broken.

His body tried to resist, tried to preserve itself even as the blood spread through his body, blackening his veins as they spider webbed across his skin; Daveth hunched forward and began to violently expel the poisonous blood from his system making everyone take a step back. When his body had no more fight left in it, he began to seize, his eyes rolling to the back of his head until finally, mercifully, he became still with death.

"I'm sorry, Daveth," Duncan whispered, his face twisted in remorse.

Anouk's hands were clenched in fists so tightly she could feel her fingernails cutting into her palms and she tasted blood between her teeth from the inside of her cheek as she stared at Daveth unable to tear her gaze away. Frozen in place from horror, her stomach rolled threatening to make her sick and her heart now somehow beating more frantically from fear behind the basket of her ribcage.

In her peripheral vision, she watched Jory take several retreating steps, shaking his head vigorously. Duncan turned to the man, "Step forward, Jory."

He shook his head harder, "No. You ask too much, there's no glory in this -"

Duncan took a predatory step toward Jory who had backed into a wall and drawn his sword. "There is no going back."

"I have a wife… a-a child! You can't ask this!"

Slowly, Duncan set the chalice down and drew one of his daggers. Anouk turned away, knowing what was going to happen before it did. There were two clashes of metal meeting metal, then the sound of it scraping against the concrete and finally the wet, gasping sound that Jory made as Duncan ran him through.

"I am sorry, Jory." With a sigh, Duncan sheathed his blade and took up the chalice once again turning to Anouk. "Step forward, Anouk."

She felt herself begin to shake her head, felt her foot move backwards and she was aware of repeating the word "no" over and over again under her breath. Duncan's eyes flashed the same deadly glint they had at Jory's refusal and she wondered how far backwards she could get before Duncan closed the distance.

A hand closed around her elbow and her head whipped around to face Alistair, his face screwed up in remorse. "Anouk please," he whispered, his voice thick with his plea. "It is the only way to cure you."

And now Anouk understood the thing she had seen in Alistair's gaze when he averted his eyes. It was guilt. He knew what the Joining involved and although he wanted to tell her he was unable.

"Taking more of the taint into me is a cure?" she countered.

"You would let the sickness take you though we offer you a cure? Are you truly that stubborn?" he replied.

"You have been called upon to submit yourself to the taint, Anouk," Duncan said. "Grey Wardens are the only ones who can defeat the Blight, and as a Grey Warden you will be able to fully visit vengeance on them for what they did to your tribe."

Of course, how could Anouk have forgotten? She was bound to exact revenge on those who trespassed against her tribe - she was the only one who remained. It was her duty. If she died, whether by the sickness or the poisonous blood she would never have a restful afterlife. And conversely, if she lived and did not exact the revenge her tribe deserved their faces would haunt her dreams demanding that blood be repaid in blood.

She turned her attention to Duncan, then to the cup in his hands wondering how much longer she could hesitate before he took the same measures he had with Jory. She saw the faces of her tribe flicker through her mind, heard their voices in her head meshing in tandem with the screams of their demise. This was what she had to do.

Anouk swallowed thickly and reached for the cup, her hands shaking violently. The black liquid bubbled and undulated in the chalice, thick as sap. With a brief, silent prayer she tipped the chalice back, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to run down her cheeks.

She felt the bile rise at the back of her throat the instant the hot liquid touched her tongue, but she forced it back down past her gag reflex. It hit her stomach and sat there like a warm coal, smoldering. As with Daveth, for a moment nothing happened, for a moment Anouk felt fine - the burning in her blood, the heat in her skin, the fatigue and her headache were all gone.

And then, suddenly, Anouk realized she had never known pain before in her life. A sudden twisting, sharp pain exploded in her gut as if she had been stabbed making her clutch her stomach. She didn't recall hitting the ground, but the warm coal in her stomach exploded and her skin erupted in flame ten times hotter than the fever and Anouk marveled at the fact that she didn't smell burning flesh. The slicing pain cut through her, tore within her, shredding everything in her. She wanted to scream, to have an outlet for the pain but the sound locked itself in her throat and it was all Anouk could do to even _breathe_. Everything around her was spinning, and she found herself trying to grip the ground before she fell off the world.

As if the pain wasn't enough, there was a cacophony of sound and visions wrecking havoc in Anouk's head. Shadows danced and twirled with whispers and screams, twisting around and around. Flames crackled, flickering and casting terrifying, nightmarish silhouettes onto the walls of her subconscious. A light penetrated the darkness, merely a pinprick at first then grew larger, came closer and dismissed the silhouettes, replacing them with a somehow sentient haze that licked and caressed her.

And when the deafening roar shattered through the shadows, the darkness fell away revealing the twisted dragon in all its horror. It turned its gaze on Anouk and it _saw_ her, she felt it. Anouk thought she saw a ghost of a smile cross the thing's face (but did dragons smile?), and again it gave an ear splitting roar in her direction.

Finally, Anouk was greeted with darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Annd finally the Joining. I hope I did it justice! <strong>

**Battle of Ostagar next chapter! **

**Not a whole lot to say today, except thank you  
>to everyone who reviewed last chapter! Cibiripilli,<br>Dhallhenn, Judy, and karinfan123. You guys are awesome! **

**See you next chapter! :) **

**-(gxr)- **


	7. VII

**Wilder**

.

.

**VII**

.

.

Anouk was so sure she had died.

Her reasoning behind this belief was that a person should not have to go through the pain she did unless the release of death was sure to follow. But her eyes flickered open and the sloping canvas of the tent's ceiling came into focus above her, and below her the bedroll she laid on smelled of cedar.

For a moment, Anouk did not recognize her surroundings and she jolted upright, instantly regretting her decision when her entire body tensed in pain. She hissed, relaxing her muscles and heard someone chuckle. "You're going to be sore for a little while."

She turned to find Alistair sitting on the floor sharpening his sword and though a small smile pulled his lips, the cautious shadow in his eyes didn't match up. And that guard was not unfounded as Anouk's anger with him quickened her heart and the betrayal she felt rapidly found its root in her stomach, it was all she could do not to sneer at him.

"Why are you here?" she ground out through her teeth, her voice hard.

"To check on you. Dmitri woke not too long ago," he answered, moving to sheathe his sword. "Duncan is waiting for you so you and Dmitri can accompany him to the war council." Then Alistair sighed and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Anouk took a deep breath, allowing the breath to calm her for a moment. Physically she felt… great considering the fact that a few hours ago she had ingested poisonous blood. The palms of her hands were not slick with sweat, her muscles no longer ached and the near constant pounding behind her eyes had ceased. She looked down at her skin relived to see it had finally returned to its normal healthy pallor and that the bruise-like blotches had vanished. They were right, becoming a Grey Warden had cured her of the Dark One's disease.

"I feel… better," she admitted at length.

And yet, the thought of what she had done to achieve her cure still haunted her, made her sick to her stomach and Anouk imagined it would for a very long time. She looked to Alistair, he and Duncan looked human enough and yet they, like she, had also undergone the Joining, also drank the Dark One's blood - so why did Anouk no longer _feel_ human? Somehow her skin no longer felt like it fit her bones and if she were to cut herself would her blood still run red or would it be as black as the taint that had sickened her?

"I have something for you," Alistair said, drawing her from her reverie. "There's one other part to your Joining; we take some of the blood and put it into a pendant... a reminder of those to didn't make it."

He tossed her the pendant he'd been thumbing, which she caught with ease. It was oval shaped, thick glass that had been plated in silver with an etched rampant griffon on the face. If Anouk turned the pendant she could see the displacement the dark liquid made under the griffon.

"Anouk, I'm… so sorry for not telling you, but you have to understand that I couldn't," Alistair said next.

She let his face come back into focus. The pattern of his speech and the expression on his face all led her to believe that his guilt was real but his apology rang hollow. "Your remorse is genuine Alistair, your apology however lacks the same humility," she told him flatly. "You are more sorry that I am angry with you, not that you couldn't tell me."

"You're angry with me?"

"How can I not be?" Anouk snapped. "Perhaps if I had not seen the Dark Ones kill everyone and everything I loved I would not have had such an aversion to the Joining, but had I known I was to -"

"That is exactly the reason we don't tell the recruits!" Alistair shot back. "The Grey Wardens are shorthanded as it is without people knowing _how_ we become what we are. You would have died in a matter of another few hours had you not undergone the Joining, do you have any idea how many soldiers we've seen succumb to the blight? I'm sorry that you feel I deceived you, Anouk but it saved you and I'm not sorry for that."

Anouk's jaw clenched, Alistair didn't understand and likely never would. At what cost had she saved her life through the Joining, just what had she lost to the taint - her humanity, her soul… her eternity? _Unequa_ would greet her in Tsusgina'i with great sadness seeing the darkness of her spirit and her unclean hands. Would her spirit be cast as one of the _Uleyov_, a wanderer, forever restless? She wondered briefly if Aleshanee, who told stories of the Grey Wardens with much reverence, knew of the connection between the Dark Ones and the Wardens.

"Do not speak to me of watching people succumb to the Dark One's disease!" Anouk retorted. "Your Grey Warden tower fell many, many years ago, where do you think they appeared when they raided between Blights and who do you think fought them? Certainly not Grey Wardens! I have grown watching my people become ill from their corruption and die because of it, so do not think I am unaware just how horrible my death would have been."

Alistair shook his head and she saw the tendon in his jaw tense. "You really are stubborn, you know how horrible your death would have been and yet it sounds as though you almost would have preferred to die."

"A part of me would have," she conceded. "Were I among my tribe and fallen ill, my own father would have granted me the death I asked for."

"And where is the honor in that?" Alistair asked, raising a skeptical brow.

"Knowing that I would have gone to the Great Spirit with clear eyes and clean hands, readily welcomed into the ghost country." Anouk replied and then countered, "Where is the honor in screaming oneself to death choking on poisonous blood?"

Anouk raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer but Alistair appeared not to have one for her. Instead, he pressed his mouth into a firm line and looked away from her. "Duncan's waiting for you," is all he said before turning on his heel and exiting the tent.

Anouk breathed a short, derisive laugh and shook her head watching the flap of the tent flit closed. She wondered how Alistair could blindly approve of what the Grey Wardens did to become what they were, how he could defend them and seem to refuse to see another side.

Just what had Alistair's recruitment saved him from?

.

.

Anouk and Dmitri returned from the war council in silence mentally preparing for the task they had been given by the King. All around them they could hear the soldiers preparing themselves for the up and coming battle, the screeching of whetstones against blades, the thumbing of drawstrings being checked. Out of the corner of her eye Anouk could see Dmitri continually attempting to crack his knuckles - a nervous habit, she suspected - despite the joints making no noise.

She stayed in her thoughts thinking back on the war council. Why had Cailan insisted Alistair accompany them to light the Tower of Ishal? Anouk did not see the purpose of him accompanying them, it was an easy enough task, she and Dmitri could handle it on their own and she doubted Alistair would desire to leave Duncan's side for the battle. And Anouk had seen the expression on Dmitri's face as he looked over the battle plans, the pinched scrutiny, but he said nothing. From what she had been able to gather, the battle was not even meant to be taking place that night, the army was meant to be waiting for people called "orlesians", but Loghain vehemently insisted they didn't require their assistance. It all left a turbulence in her mind that would not abate.

"I don't feel quite right about all of this," Dmitri commented beside her.

"You as well?"

"Mm," he replied with a nod. "But Loghain is one of the greatest tactical and military minds in Ferelden, I see no reason for this battle to go any differently than the others."

"Then why did you look so unsettled looking over the battle plans?" she asked.

Dmitri shook his head, "In my studies I've read of a battle using a strategy much like the one we'll be utilizing… It didn't go well. It is entirely contingent on us getting to the beacon on time while the whole of the army waits for the enemy to attack at their leisure rather than taking the offensive advantage and we are essentially setting ourselves up to be set upon and this far from any town worthy of note we are no where near well-equipped enough to endure a siege."

He sighed, taking a moment to thread a hand through his dark hair before he continued, "Loghain's men are the said to be the best, but even with the number of men he commands their line will be spread devastatingly thin and by some miracle the Maker works, if the army wins the loss to our own numbers will surely be detrimental."

"We have no room for error, then," Anouk stated.

Dmitri nodded as he turned to her, "None."

The two new Wardens went their separate ways to their tents to prepare themselves for the battle. Anouk donned the armor she found the day in the Wilds, buckling and strapping everything into place, working the new armor with each twist and stretch, reassured in the weight of it on her body. She sharpened her hatchets finding comfort in the singing of the whetstone against the metal before moving onto her bow, pulling the drawstring taut, tightening it and oiling the wood. She worked meticulously on re-fletching the arrows and coating the tips in deathroot extract.

Finally, Anouk set aside her weapons, reaching for her leather satchel and removing a small, sealed tin. She twisted off the top, taking a deep breath to relish the scent that reminded her of her father, trying to ignore the clenching in her chest. With a steadying breath, Anouk dipped her fingers into the war paint before raising them to her face.

"Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the wind, whose breath gives life to all the world. Hear me; I need your strength and wisdom," she uttered in a whisper, drawing her paint stained fingers over her face. "In this dark hour help me to remain calm and strong in the face of all that comes towards me, make my hands steady, help my heart to be great. And make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes. So when life fades, my spirit may come to you without shame."

.

.

Alistair tried not to acknowledge the anger churning in his chest - just what did Cailan think he was playing at, sending him on some simple errand and keeping him out of the battle? Then his anger rapidly gave way to horror as another thought occurred to him, _Perhaps Cailan knows who I am_, and he felt the blood drain from his face. What other explanation was there? If Cailan did not know who Alistair was then there was no feasible reason to keep him from the fighting. Was he supposed to feel grateful, then, that his… brother (Maker, even thinking it made his stomach jump into his throat) was keeping him from harm?

The sound of her approaching footsteps drew him from his reverie, the careful sureness of her footfalls as they steadily grew closer. Alistair felt his blood thrill through his veins thinking of their earlier conversation, felt the heat of his frustration with Anouk color his ears. She all but resented that the Joining had saved her life and Alistair found himself unreservedly angry with her for admitting that part of her would rather have died. Perhaps he was more angry with the fact that Anouk had managed to render him speechless using his own logic against him.

He looked up, startled for a minute and did a double-take. It was indeed Anouk, but she looked… different, fierce. The leather bustier was gone replaced with an archer's breastplate (which much to his chagrin still revealed her midriff), a demi-pauldron and full arm guard on her dominant side and showing her tribal tattoo marking the other. She was looking down at her wrist, adjusting the strap on her arm guard and pulling her finger-less gloves up higher, thankfully unaware of Alistair's staring. He could see the leather breeches hugging her hips, peeking through the hardened leather leg guards and held in place by a belt with the tassets guarding her thighs, though the wolf's pelt was still slung around her hips.

Then Anouk lifted her head revealing her war paint. Four dark lines descended across her face and down her neck and she had painted what appeared to be two animal prints on her chest. Alistair continued to stare at her seeing the same fighting spirit and determined light Anouk showed him the night the darkspawn attacked the camp. She was a warrior goddess made real.

"Alistair," she greeted him with a nod. "Where is Duncan?"

"Talking to one of the Teyrn's men," he replied as he averted his eyes to avoid showing her his blushing face.

She nodded, "I see."

"Are you two ready for this?" came Dmitri's voice as he approached, hefting his great sword onto his shoulder.

Anouk turned to him and Alistair watched Dmitri's gaze drift from her head to toe, also taken aback by her change of appearance but he couldn't help the prick of irritation seeing Dmitri's eyes glitter with appreciation. "We have to be ready," Anouk replied. "There is no turning back now."

The three Wardens looked at one another and Alistair saw the familiar shifting features in each of his companions. It was the change of recognizing that in just the time span of a day they had become a team, of placing trust in one another.

.

.

"Duncan, may the Maker watch over you," Alistair said to his mentor, eyebrows slanted in apprehension.

Duncan sighed, his gaze rolling over the junior Wardens standing before him. "May He watch over us all."

They said their final good-byes and well-wishes to Duncan, none of them giving pause to the thought that it would be the last time they saw him. As Anouk and her companions left him, she saw scores of people around the Revered Mother down on their knees with their hands desperately clasped together as they asked for their Maker's blessing, asked for the Mother's benediction and prayed for their souls.

A drop of rain hit Anouk between the eyes and she tilted her head towards the sky as a streak of lightning danced across the clouds and gave an ominous crack. And as the drops descended faster and faster, the battle horns sounded joined by the righteous battle cries of the army.

"Let's go, you heard Duncan, we've got less than an hour!" Dmitri shouted, progressing into a jog as they reached the bridge over the gorge.

Archer's flaming arrows lit the sky, reigning a burning death on their targets. Under her feet, the bridge shook as it took multiple catapult hits, the force of them nearly making her lose her footing. An uneasy feeling in her stomach intensified as they reached the other side of the bridge.

Something was… wrong and coming closer.

Then Anouk heard the screams as they rounded the corner, the soldiers positioned to guard the tower were being overrun by darkspawn. Alistair rushed ahead, bashing creatures with his shield while Dmitri finished them with his sword making sure none of them reached her bringing up the rear. Anouk stayed back, firing arrows ahead at emissaries and enemy archers.

When the last darkspawn outside the tower fell, Alistair crossed to the nearest soldier demanding to know what happened. Anouk kicked a darkspawn body over - the wrong feeling she knew a few moments ago must have been her sensing the darkspawn. It wasn't what she expected, it was intuitive, she just _knew_. Anouk had expected there to be a pull, or a tug, or a call as there had been with the sickness. She thought there would be a physical connection to the Dark One's being that they now shared the same taint, but there was just the all consuming knowledge without question that they were near.

"One of the Teyrn's men says that the darkspawn broke out in the tower, most of the men that were inside are dead," Alistair told them.

"Shit," Dmitri stated. "Well, we've got to go in no mater what, but our job just got a lot harder."

They headed into the tower their party joined by a Circle mage whose name Anouk did not catch. The soldier Alistair had spoken to was right, the darkspawn had broken out in the tower and spread like an infestation killing everyone. Anouk was thankful for the mage as they fought their way through the tower, his healing magic renewing their vigor and sense of purpose.

"I don't understand," Alistair commented when they reached the second floor, "how are there this many so far ahead of the horde? There was supposed to be no resistance here!"

"We have no time to dwell on it," Anouk chided him, moving ahead having switched to her hatchets on the first floor.

"You could try telling them they're in the wrong place," Dmiti told Alistair dryly, falling into step just behind Anouk.

She heard Alistair snort. "Right, because this is all a misunderstanding. _Clearly._"

They continued on still, Anouk feeling her heart beat from the bottom of her stomach. The tower was eerily quiet, the sounds from the battle raging outside unable to breech the thick walls and made it seem like a far off world. Blood and gore covered every surface, squelched under her boots as it congealed in thick puddles. Bodies were impaled on stakes, against the walls and staring sightlessly at them as they passed.

Finally Anouk was sprinting up the last flight of stairs, the end of their task was almost near. They burst through the door and stopped cold, bumping the person on either side and behind them. A crushing sense of impossibility overwhelmed Anouk as her eyes went wide.

"What in the name of the Maker is that!" the mage cried.

A creature unlike any they had seen before stood in their path, tall as a tree and terrifyingly ugly. Horns curled back from its head and as it turned, blood dripped from its teeth that were as long as her forearm.

"Whatever it is, it can be killed like the rest of them," Dmitri replied and with a war cry charged into the room.

Dmitri's confidence did not last long. The creature's skin was thick, durable and the force from one of its blows was powerful enough to send them tumbling across the room with broken bones. The mage kept it distracted, throwing spell after spell in its face as Anouk, Dmitri and Alistair tried to find a vulnerable spot, but it seemed to have none.

She watched in horror when the ogre reached down and plucked the mage from the ground, holding him in one monster fist. The mage screamed until he had no more air as it tightened its fist, she heard bones breaking and the mage turned blue and then purple in the face. With one last, final squeeze, blood seemed to eke from every orifice and the ogre threw him aside as though he were nothing more than a broken toy.

The sheer brutality of the mage's death, for some reason, rocked Anouk to her core. It really shouldn't have because after all, had she not watched Daveth scream himself to death as he choked on the tainted blood? And had she not seen the Dark Ones' penchant for destruction the night they wiped out her tribe?

The ogre set its sights on Anouk and it crouched to charge, Alistair shouted her name and she threw herself aside at the last moment, hearing the ogre lodge its horns in the wall. Her window of opportunity was small, but Anouk took it, climbing the creature's back and using all of her withering strength to bury the blade of her hatchet through the base of its neck. It gave an angry roar and reared back, bucking Anouk off violently and she hit the ground hard, knocking the air from her lungs and she felt the bones in her ribs crack. Dmitri helped Anouk to her feet as Alistair took the beast down, driving his sword through the thing's chest, knocking it backwards from the might of his attack.

The ogre defeated, Alistair and Dmitri quickly lit the beacon while Anouk ran to a great hole in the wall, no doubt caused by the ogre. The air smelled of blood and death and smoke, valiant battle cries were quickly becoming terrified screams that were carried by the wind and accompanied by ringing metal. The sky seemed to have taken on a foreboding shade of scarlet to reflect the blood staining the earth, human and darkspawn alike.

Anouk knew they were too late.

Still, Anouk found herself scanning the outskirts of the battlefield, trying to orient herself from the vantage point to find where Loghain would be. It didn't take long, the man's shining armor stood out against the darkness to a hunter with sharp eyes like her. She heard her heart hammer behind the caging of her ribs, felt the pain pulse with every beat; Anouk saw him lean over and say something to the solider beside him. The soldier nodded and turned to the army and Anouk watched the soldier give a hand signal she did not recognize, what she did recognize however was the sudden stirring of the line as it moved _away_ from the battle.

Before Anouk realized what she was doing she had an arrow loaded into her bow aimed at Loghain. A sliver of doubt slid down her spine - she would never hit him from this distance, but she had to try! The arrow flew free, cut through the smoke pluming into the sky; she was too impatient and thus a hair short in her aim; the arrow glanced off his shoulder plate. But Loghain looked around, bewildered, until he seemed to realize the arrow's trajectory and his gaze came to rest on Anouk at the top of the tower.

Anouk shouldered her bow and turned, "We must leave and quickly."

Before Alistair and Dmitri could question her however, the door burst open and in piled a score of darkspawn. Anouk felled three before the first arrow lodged itself in her shoulder. The last thing Anouk remembered was the solid thudding sound of three more arrows hitting her and before the pain could settle in, the darkness closed in on her first.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, Battle of Ostagar. Sad. :( <strong>

**Let's face it, even if they made it to the tower on time  
>there was a slim chance of that battle plan actually working.<br>Oh well. **

**Thank you to lynn-writer, Auroraas, Judy, Cibiripilli,  
>Cibiripilli, and rawhide wolf for reviewing the last chapter!<br>YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! **

**-(gxr)-**


	8. VIII

**Wilder**

.

.

**VIII**

.

.

For the second time in probably just as many days, Anouk found herself waking from the clutches of unconsciousness, rising with the thought that she should have been dead. She rose slowly remembering how her body reacted the last time she jolted upright from unconsciousness, this time choosing to test her body's limitations. Her body ached in places Anouk didn't know she had, breathing sent a sharp pain through her core and in the back of her throat she tasted the metallic bitterness of her own blood.

She sat perched on the edge of the cot for a moment trying to bring to the surface her last foggy memories before everything had gone black. The battle, the Tower of Ishal, the ogre, lighting the beacon… Loghain's retreat and finally being overwhelmed by darkspawn. It all came back with a swiftness that nearly made her head spin, but Anouk shook her head fiercely, driving the images from her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Anouk turned to her right finding Dmitri and Alistair spread out on their own cots in the small hut. Were it not for the barely noticeable movements of their chests she would have thought them dead, so still were they. They had all been changed from their armor and their wounds had been tended to; they were alive, all of them… but how?

Anouk turned away taking stock of her own body, slowly removing the bandages she found and picking up the sharp smell of elfroot. She was relieved to find that where there were once open wounds, only jagged pink scars remained. Blood -surely her own- stained the light colored tunic and breeches she wore and was caked under her nails.

Slowly, Anouk stood picking up her hatchets and belting them around her waist as she made for the door. Mid-morning sun nearly blinded her as she stepped into the familiar, chilly and moist air she only knew to come from the Wilds. Plumes of thick, black smoke tumbled into the sky from what Anouk knew to be the general direction of Ostagar - the sight of it made her stomach pitch uncomfortably and she turned away. The ground squelched under her feet the further she walked, absently keeping a hand on the hilt of an axe and taking in her immediate surroundings with increased panic.

"I see one of you has finally risen."

Anouk turned toward the voice as the old woman rounded the corner of the hut. Her heart beat wildly as the woman regarded her with the same predatory eyes Morrigan possessed and Anouk felt as though her soul were bare before her.

"Yes," she replied flatly, her hand unconsciously tightening on her axe. "How did we get here?"

"I brought you here," Flemeth replied easily, as though Anouk should have come to that conclusion on her own. "You were not destined to die atop that tower."

"By your renowned kindness, no doubt," Anouk answered, voice thick with sarcasm.

"Don't sound so ungrateful," the old woman chided, "I could have left you behind."

Anouk sighed and dropped down onto a log, choosing not to reply immediately. She heard Flemeth's footsteps draw nearer until she was just behind Anouk whose hand had ventured to the charm on her wrist. It had been given to her at a young age and to all the children in the village as protection against being taken by The Witch of the Wilds. The old woman's presence pressed down on her, against her like a thick fog and Anouk watched the hair all along her arms raise to their ends at her proximity.

"Then why did you not?" she wondered wearily, rubbing her thumb over the carving in the wooden charm.

"Well, the more Grey Wardens there are, the more of a chance there is to end the Blight."

Anouk almost laughed. "They all died in the battle."

"Oh? Do I mistake the darkness I see in you, then?" Clenching her jaw, Anouk pushed herself to her feet before stalking off into the reeds. In her wake, the witch's laugh rang in her ears. "I would not venture far!"

.

.

Anouk knew they had to do something, but what… and for that matter _how_? She, Alistair and Dmitri were the only three Wardens left in Ferelden, the rest, along with their Commander laid in the resulting wasteland after a battle. What could they do, three Wardens facing an entire _horde_ that contained perhaps tens of thousands of enemies with a _dragon_ of all things at the head.

"It is impossible," Anouk muttered to herself.

She heard the rustling through the tall grass and turned just time to see Morrigan slink through the reeds. The two women overlooked one another each taking in the differences in the other from the last time they met. Morrigan's eyes held an edge now, an ever present challenge and defiance swirling through the melted gold. Her attention ventured to the tight chignon holding Morrigan's hair remembering how when they were children it was always free, shining around her shoulders and glinting blue in the sunlight. But everything about Morrigan now was carefully controlled - emotions, body language, her facial expressions.

"T'would seem that your friends have finally risen," Morrigan began, "it might be wise to return lest they think something happened to you."

Sighing, Anouk rose to her feet and silently followed Morrigan back to Flemeth's hut. It was not a long walk - Anouk had heeded Flemeth's departing words not to venture far, and the two women walked in silence. She almost dreaded seeing Alistair and Dmitri, did not want to see the bright confusion at their situation because after all, neither of them had seen Loghain's retreat and she would not rejoice in telling them.

And Anouk did not yet wish to come to terms with the great task that suddenly marked the path ahead of them.

All too soon for Anouk, she and Morrigan were pushing through the last of the reeds surrounding the clearing where the hut resided. Alistair and Dmitri looked up at their arrival, but where Dmitri greeted the sight of her with relief, Alistair's eyes had taken on a disquieting hollowness.

"I am glad to see you two are all right," Anouk said as she approached the two men, trying her best to smile.

Alistair snorted but Dmitri rose to greet her, "We're alive, that's… something I suppose." Then he sighed heavily as the two of them sank to the ground. "What even happened? We lit the beacon, darkspawn broke down the door and then… we're here… I don't…" he trailed off, brows slanting together and mouth puckering.

Anouk swallowed thickly, "Loghain… quit the field. I imagine it was not long after that the army was overwhelmed."

A strangled sound emitted from Alistair as he whispered, "So Duncan… the Grey Wardens… even the King? They're all… dead?" Anouk's heart ached for him and slowly, she extended out her hand to grip his, but before she could reach him, Alistair shoved himself to his feet and began pacing urgently his chest heaving as he began to hyperventilate, "No… this-this can't be real! Oh Maker, all those people!"

"It is," Anouk assured him gently. "I saw his men begin to retreat with my own eyes."

Dmitri dragged a hand through his hair and she watched the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed. "We were too late and Loghain did the only logical thing he could think of."

In a flash, Alistair had lifted Dmitri from his seat by the front of his shirt. "How dare you!" he roared. "You would defend what he did!"

Anouk's heart raced at the thought of the two of them coming to blows - did she even have enough energy to try and stop them? Fire ignited Alistair's eyes and they danced between Dmitri's, searching. She held her breath waiting, but nothing happened and it spoke volumes to Dmitri's character that he did not attempt to retaliate.

"No," Dmitri finally said, his voice even. "I don't defend it, I don't even approve of it; The battle was already lost by the time we lit the beacon, and Loghain retreated recognizing that calling his men into battle would have resulted in their defeat leaving absolutely _no one_ to defend Ferelden - he would not sacrifice the whole for the sake of the few."

Alistair's eyes narrowed before he dropped Dmitri and Anouk released the breath she was holding. The three of them turned toward the approaching footsteps of Flemeth, "Save your anger and your grief for another time," she said as she came to a stop. "Duty must come first."

"What are you talking about?" Dmitri asked wearily.

Flemeth crossed her arms, "Has it not always been the duty of the Grey Wardens to unite the lands against the Blight?"

Anouk turned away from the old woman, "Look elsewhere witch, Alistair is the only Grey Warden here."

There was a moment of thick silence and Anouk heard the shuffle of movement. Feet appeared in her line of sight but she did not look up. The person standing before her crouched to her level and she recognized Alistair's hands as he rested them on her own, tightening his fingers as though she was the only thing keeping him grounded. She finally looked up meeting his tortured gaze and her mouth went dry.

"All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone except for us," he said, voice tight. "I know you're probably still angry with me, but… I've lost _everyone_… I'm begging you, both of you -" Alistair's eyes darted to Dmitri over Anouk's shoulder "- please don't abandon me now."

"Alistair," Dmitri said gently, "I lost my -" he seemed to struggle with his words for a moment "- entire family… and Anouk, her whole tribe: we know how you feel, but do you understand the magnitude of what you're asking us, of what you'd expect us to do?"

"I know," he replied sadly, "but we have to do something! And… I can't do it alone."

Anouk rolled her lips together turning her answer over in her head a few times. She didn't want to agree, and yet, she didn't want to decline because for whatever reason she was loath to part from Dmitri and Alistair - they were _all_ she had left now and the thought of being away from either of them filled her with a sudden dread she could not explain. Taiomah's face, frozen in death, rose to the surface of her mind's eye; she had failed to protect him. If she agreed, would Alistair and Dmitri join the ranks of those she failed to protect?

But protecting them would prove infinitely easier, were she with them. With a sigh, Anouk nodded, "Very well, Alistair."

The young man crouched in front of her expelled the breath he seemed to have been holding. Next thing Anouk knew, Alistair had leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. "Thank you," he whispered.

"The three of us cannot hope to do this on our own," Dmitri pointed out.

"Well, Cailan already sent for other Wardens," Alistair said, rising to his feet. "But I would think Loghain has already taken measures to prevent them from coming." A pensive look crossed his face before his eyes brightened, "Arl Eamon! We can go to Arl Eamon, he could rally the nobles, the Landsmeet would not stand for what Loghain did - there would be a civil war."

"The country could not survive a civil war _and_ a Blight," Anouk said.

"Would Arl Eamon even _believe_ us?" Dmitri inquired.

Anouk saw Alistair's determination deflate suddenly. "I don't know. He wasn't there, he still has all of his men… we can at least go to Redcliffe and ask for his help."

Anouk crossed her arms. "And when that yields no results?"

Flemeth cleared her throat, "Are you forgetting that you have more resources than just this… Arl Eamon?"

"... The treaties!" Alistair exclaimed, his excitement growing. "The Grey Warden treaties allow us to demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages and other places!" He looked to Anouk and Dmitri, the shadow that once lurked in his eyes replaced with a sickening hope, "So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and… build an army?"

"You say that as though it will be an easy task," said Anouk.

"And when it is it ever?" Flemeth replied.

"It's always been the Grey Wardens' duty to defeat the Blight," Alistair affirmed with a nod, "and right now, _we're_ the Grey Wardens."

This seemed to please Flemeth, who nodded in approval. "So you're set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

Anouk rounded on the old woman unable to control her ire a moment longer. "And just what do you get out of this, witch? Do not think me so simple minded not to recognize when someone attempts to use me as their play thing!"

Dmitri grabbed her by the elbow, "Anouk, stop -"

"_Tla!_" she snapped, wrenching her arm from his hand. "What is it, then? You are powerful enough to leave the Wilds, Ferelden and go somewhere beyond the Blight until it is defeated - why do you not do so! Why save us at all?"

The old woman said nothing and her face remained passive, but Anouk could see the lightning dancing dangerously in her eyes and Anouk resisted the abrupt urge to strike her. How dare she kindle Alistair's hope in this manner, and play with his emotions using this trickery, making him believe that they could somehow fulfill all the treaties and defeat the Blight on their own.

"Anouk," Alistair said her name quietly, his tone imploring and she felt the rumble of a growl reverberate through her chest. "Anouk!" he said again, pulling her arm and for whatever reason, Anouk found herself slowly turning away.

Flemeth laughed, and the sound shivered down Anouk's spine and settled against her bones uncomfortably. "Now that's settled, there is one more thing I can offer you…"

.

.

And so they were set, ready to take on a journey that would surely test them at every turn. The enormity of the path they had chosen weighing on their brows and pressing their mouths into contemplative frowns. It would take them to their limit and push them past it, strain their faith and trust in themselves and one another. The choices they made from the moment they left the Korcari Wilds would no longer affect just their own lives for they carried the fate of a nation, of countless innocent souls, on their shoulders.

They would make friends, and they would make enemies. They would serve justice, and seek vengeance; be merciful and ruthless.

Alistair and Dmitri would look to Anouk for resolve, for reason and surety; Anouk would look to Alistair and Dmitri for strength, companionship and reassurance. They would see each other at their best and their weakest. They would lean on, carry, push, pull and possibly drag each other through this.

They knew the odds were stacked against them, and that at any step it could all go wrong. But having a purpose, a goal, an end-game is a powerful motivator that has fuelled the fire of determination for centuries. It would shake through their skulls, through their spines and nestle itself in the basket of their ribcages; be felt by their foes in the sweep of blades, and heard in battle orchestra.

Failure was not an option.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, here we go! Finally, beginning the journey!<br>Next stop - Lothering, Sten, Leliana and a few  
>more Chasind! :) <strong>

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter!  
>Judy, Scarletstar20, Cibiripilli, and rawhide wolf!<strong>

**And I know Dmitri has seemed like a background**  
><strong>character so far, and well, that's because to Anouk<strong>  
><strong>he was - how was she to know he would survive the<strong>  
><strong>Joining, or even the Battle of Ostagar? Her focus up til<strong>  
><strong>this point, people wise, was Duncan and Alistair. So,<br>hopefully now he'll be a more present character. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading! I'll see you next chapter!**

**-(gxr)- **


	9. IX

**Wilder**

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.

**IX**

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Alistair had barely looked up from the ground after leaving Flemeth's hut, seeming to have lost the fleeting bravado he had found. If it were not for the near constant buzz of conversation between Dmitri and Anouk, and the fact that he was following their shadows he probably would lost them miles ago.

He stayed silent during the trip to Lothering trying to keep his misery under control, trying not to scream his anger and frustration. They were going to fulfill the treaties, rally the nobles, amass an army, quell the Blight and slay the Archdemon - all of these things he should have been doing beside Duncan, assisting him whenever the Commander needed it. It all made Alistair terrifyingly _aware_ of his status as one of the remaining three Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden and reminded him that death would never be far enough away from him or his life.

Duncan's loss registered to Alistair as a _physical_ pain, a clenching sensation in the center of his chest. He had lost the one person who knew of his Theirin blood and treated him no differently. Duncan never coddled, never sugar-coated anything and never hesitated to tell Alistair when he was not giving all he could. To Alistair, the world seemed a much darker place without Duncan's stoic presence and he almost wanted to be angry with Anouk and Dmitri for not taking the Commander's loss as hard as he seemed to, but neither of them had known Duncan as long as Alistair - Anouk only knew Duncan a month give or take a week, and Dmitri even less.

And Cailan, bright, upbeat and admittedly naïve King Cailan was dead on the tainted battlefield of Ostagar leaving behind no heir anyone knew about. Perhaps Cailan put too much faith in the Grey Wardens' reputation for the end result, or maybe he didn't put enough belief in Duncan's warnings that this was indeed a Blight and not a large raid. Maybe they would have waited for the Orlesians were it not for Loghain's prejudices…

A dark rage churned in Alistair's stomach at the thought of Loghain and his battle retreat. While part of him understood Dmitri's explanation for the Teyrn's actions, another part of him simply could not wrap his head around it, blatantly refused to. Alistair had studied history in the abbey, knew of Loghain's achievements during the Orlesian occupation. He was a hero, The Hero of River Dane in fact, someone Alistair had previously looked up to for his more admirable qualities, for his battle prowess and strength, his tactical strategies and maneuvers that won wars and the way his men worshipped him as if Loghain were the Maker himself. He was a Teyrn, the Queen's father, and father-in-law to the young King he abandoned on the battlefield.

… So who would take the throne? The question made Alistair's mouth go dry and caused his steps to falter. His thoughts ventured to the impending civil war over the matter because surely Anora, a _woman_, could not lead the country herself despite the fact that everyone knew she had been leading Ferelden in every capacity but name for the last five years. Quite frankly, Alistair was perfectly happy to have Anora on the throne because the alternative… well, it made his insides land in a quivering mass somewhere in the Deep Roads. Besides, who would put Alistair forth as a candidate for the crown because he certainly would not step forward of his own volition! No one would want to admit that beloved King Maric was as much an indiscreet man as a commoner, much the less that he had produced a bastard.

Alistair glanced up to where Dmitri and Anouk were walking ahead of him, and beyond them he could make out Morrigan leading the way. The witch made Alistair uneasy though nowhere near to the degree she unsettled Anouk. He remembered Anouk's story from the Wilds after finding the treaties gone from the Warden outpost - _Maker, how long ago was that? It feels like a lifetime ago - _that she and Morrigan were friends as children, but that friendship seemed to have long since disintegrated given the suspicious glint in Anouk's eyes whenever she looked to Morrigan.

"… think it's possible?" Alistair's attention honed in on Dmitri and Anouk's conversation as the noble-turned-Grey-Warden finished his inquiry.

Anouk thought on Dmitri's question for a moment, which Alistair's had not caught the entirety of. "It… is possible, yes," she said haltingly. "If what you were told was true, there are… or perhaps I should say were, two villages of my people within half a days walk of that area. It is possible that your brother could be among one of those tribes."

Ah, so Dmitri was wondering about his brother's fate. The elder Cousland had been send scouting into the Wilds almost the very same day he arrived with Highever's men. Alistair had only met Fergus in passing, but the family resemblance between him and Dmitri was not unnoticed. The two men shared the same bone structure in the face, same strong jaw and wide mouth, though Dmitri's nose was narrower and his eyes dark where Fergus' were a shocking blue.

"So Fergus could be alive."

Anouk shook her head, "That I did not say. If your brother was among one of those tribes and he began to exhibit signs of being infected with the Dark One's corruption, the Chief would have had him killed to prevent it from spreading."

"I see…" Dmitri trailed off.

Alistair continued to watch the two of them, guilt growing heavy on his shoulders; he should tell them about his parentage, about being Cailan's brother. He imagined it was going to come up sooner or later but the thought of telling them, actually admitting it to someone who didn't already know terrified him. Anouk might not understand right away, but Dmitri would and surely he would see it as his duty as a noble to protect the last of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair shook his head, no, he couldn't tell them yet… Dmitri might understand why he kept it from them, but he did not relish the thought of admitting to Anouk something _else_ he kept from her; just the thought of the look she would give him made his heart drop.

… Maker, and two of them were looking to _him_ for leadership? The notion was laughable, truly! Alistair had rallied them at Flemeth's hut, united them under the Grey Warden cause, but he couldn't lead them. He had never led anything in his life, not sparring teams, not the chant before meals, nothing. No, once they reached Lothering and had a moment to figure out what their next move was, Alistair would have to make it clear that he could not lead them.

.

.

They reached Lothering by early afternoon and it was the smell of wood smoke that made Alistair lift his head. He could see the campfires dotted outside the small town, grey smoke billowing into the sky and the structured tops of pitched tents.

The scuffling of movement made Alistair turn his attention away from the refugee camps to the half a dozen men rising to their feet and blocking the path into town. "Look lively, gents, more travelers to attend to!"

They stopped, Alistair coming alongside Anouk as her hand dropped to one of her axes, eyes narrowing at the group who stopped them. The large man standing beside the leader took half a step back taking in the sudden dangerous expression on Anouk's face, "Eh… they don't look much like the rest… maybe we should let these ones pass?"

Alistair's own hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. "Highwaymen," he spat, "preying on the refugees fleeing the darkspawn."

Morrigan snorted, "They're fools is what they are. I say we teach them a lesson."

"Now is that anyway to greet someone?" the leader tsk'ed. "A mere ten silvers and we'll let you pass."

"I'd listen to your friend," Dmitri sneered. "Do we look like refugees to you?"

"See?" the slow one drawled. "No wagons, and they're armed."

Anouk shook her head, "I do not have time for this."

Squaring her shoulders, Anouk brushed right past the leader and she got two more steps before his hand closed around her left elbow, crying, "Just who do you think you are!"

The man was not prepared when Anouk wheeled around and caught him in the face with her other fist. He staggered back, nose broken and bleeding, lost his footing before he fell onto his backside where Anouk placed the heel of her boot against the man's throat, gradually increasing the pressure. Alistair and Dmitri had taken the bandits' momentary shock to draw their weapons to place them at throats and Alistair could feel Morrigan's magic at his back, sizzling along his skin.

"If you know what's good for you, _friends_, you'd start running and never look back," Dmitri said slowly.

"Al-alright, alright!" the man under Anouk's boot choked. "We'll leave! The darkspawn can have this place!"

Anouk stepped back allowing the man to stand and without much commotion, the bandits fled like the Black City itself was upon them. As they passed through the refugee camps, Alistair felt them look over their group. He felt their distrust prick the back of his neck, their helplessness and forlorn hope cramp his gut. The sight and sound of children crying out for parents they had lost to the darkspawn hit him harder than he thought it would. He looked at their dirt and tear streaked faces, their eyes wide and swimming with fear demanding _why_. More than anything, Alistair wished he could supply them with an answer, but he knew the losses they suffered were too great to be comforted.

Their group headed first to the tavern for a readily welcomed rest and cheap, watered down ale.

"Well, Lothering's just pretty as a painting isn't it?" Alistair breathed when Dmitri returned with their mugs.

"Ah! He rejoins us!" Morrigan exclaimed, eyes dancing. "Tell us Alistair, was falling on your blade in grief too much trouble? Or was your navel so terribly riveting?"

He rolled his eyes but before he could deign her acerbic wit with a reply, Anouk cut across him. "_Morrigan_!" The witch scoffed and sat back crossing her arms over her chest before turning her attention to the tavern goers, distaste written plainly over her dark features. Anouk turned back to him, expression soft, "You have been quiet, Alistair."

"I know, I've been thinking about where we should start," he replied, even it was only half the truth. "I still think Arl Eamon is our best chance for support, I would even suggest heading to Redcliffe first…"

Anouk's eyes narrowed suspiciously at his answer and Alistair felt his throat tighten uncomfortably. _Here it comes… _"Why does it sound to me that the decision is mine?"

"Because I'm leaving it up to you," he answered slowly. "Whatever you decide, I'll follow you."

"_What?_" she shot out in a breath. "You were perfectly content to lead us at Flemeth's, why surrender that now?"

"Because I don't know where to go, or where to start!" Alistair said, "_Duncan_ was supposed to be leading us, not me! I'm not really even sure we should be going to Arl Eamon's, but I'm not going to fight about it."

"You led the recruits through the Wilds perfectly fine," she reasoned.

"Yes, because I had to, because I didn't want to let Duncan down."

"And you?" Anouk rounded on Dmitri suddenly, looking for all the world like a thieving raccoon caught in lamplight.

Dmitri shook the shocked expression from his face, placing his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. "I see nothing wrong with following you, Anouk," he answered. "… A nobleman who is now likely in league with Loghain killed my family and he knows I survived. I would like to remain anonymous for as long as possible."

"Are you forgetting that I know nothing of the world outside the Wilds?" Anouk cried.

"No, but you have Alistair and me," Dmitri answered. His hand reached across the distance separating them and rested on top of Anouk's which Alistair noticed was trembling. "I trust you."

With that, Dmitri threw back the remainder of his ale and stood from his chair. "Where are _you_ going?" Alistair wondered.

Dmitri moved around the table toward the door as he replied, "Chanter's Board. We're building an army right?" He hitched up his own coin purse and drew it open and Alistair heard the clinking of coin as Dmitri rifled through it, "I have approximately… five sovereigns, two dozen silvers and a handful of coppers and I doubt you have much more, last time I checked armies were expensive."

The last they saw of Dmitri was their fellow Warden waving over his shoulder as he passed a group of soldiers striding into the tavern. Alistair's heart threatened to stutter to a stop as he took in the wyvern crest on one of the men's shields. They were Loghain's men. Alistair turned his face away, discreetly getting Anouk's attention and making her aware of the men looking around the tavern.

"They're Loghain's. This can't be good," he whispered as Anouk looked over his shoulder.

It didn't take long for the weight of a gauntleted hand to rest on Alistair's shoulder. "Well, well, well, looks as though we were lied to gentlemen. We spent all that time asking the villagers if they'd seen anyone matching these descriptions and everyone had said they hadn't seen them and yet here they are."

"Looks like we were lied to," another said.

Naturally, the confrontation resulted in a bar brawl and Alistair was quite proud to say that Anouk did not raise either of her hatchets nor nock a single arrow, and he did not raise his sword. Neither wished the innocent tavern goers, many of whom were refugees fleeing the Blight to see anymore death than they already had. No, Anouk used the ale, first throwing it in one of the soldier's faces and the mug it came in while Alistair used his shield.

To Alistair's great surprise, a woman dressed in a Chantry robe who possessed flaming red hair that clashed fiercely with the pink of the robe stepped forward and assisted. He never saw the woman stab anyone though, it seemed to him that the lay sister used the dagger only to skirt oncoming blades, and hits where made with the pommel only. She was nearly as nimble and agile as Anouk, dancing and weaving through Loghain's men.

And yet, though none of the men were stabbed or cut, they were bleeding and bruised when they surrendered. Alistair stepped forward, grabbing the man in the front by the gorget of his armor, "You give Loghain a message… He's going to have to do better than this."

The men scrambled from the tavern, each shoving whoever was beside them to get out the door first. Anouk sighed, shaking her head and rubbing her newly torn knuckles while the lay sister sauntered up to them, the smile on her face bright as day.

"Well that was exciting!" the woman cooed, her voice sweet as a candied apple, the syllables rolling over one another pleasantly. She was Orlesian. "I am sorry for interfering, but I could not just sit by and do nothing. My name is Leliana, I am a lay sister here in Lothering's Chantry."

"I'm Alistair," he replied, motioning to himself. "This is Anouk, and the one with the disapproving scowl is Morrigan."

Leliana looked down at her hands, wringing them over themselves, "That man… I heard him say you are Grey Wardens, no? You fight the darkspawn? … I imagine that you are going to need as much help as you can get, which is why I've decided to come with you!"

Anouk shook her head fervently, "No."

"I… no?" Leliana stammered, shocked at Anouk's immediate answer. Something fierce flashed through Leliana's features, through her eyes, a look that led Alistair to believe this woman was far more than _just_ a lay sister.

"No," Anouk repeated. "Why are you so eager to take up a cause not your own?"

Again, the lay sister diverted her gaze, "The… Maker told me to."

Insane. This woman was crazy, Alistair decided, clearly a few feathers short of a duck and rowing whatever boat she was on with only one oar. He leaned over to Anouk, "I think this is where we start backing away," he whispered behind his hand.

"_Oh_, the _Maker_ told you to help us did he?" Morrigan laughed.

Leliana's cheeks flared an intense red that somehow clashed even more horribly with her hair and the pink of the Chantry robe. "I know how it sounds! But the Maker sent me a vision, you must let me come! I was not always a lay sister, I have skills you could benefit from!"

"We are fighting darkspawn," Anouk told her, "their blood is potentially lethal, should you become ill from it we have no cure to offer you - you _will_ die. Is this what you want?"

Leliana straightened her shoulders, "What I want is what everyone wants right now: for the Blight to be over. Look at the people here, most are innocent souls lost in in their helplessness, their desperation."

"You wish to help these people?" Anouk asked, "Help them here."

"And when the horde gets here? Then what? If no one combats the Blight, the darkness will spread. The Maker doesn't want this," Leliana persisted.

"She may be a little... odd, but she really seems to want to help," Alistair told Anouk.

Anouk gave an irritated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as though she was running out of patience. She turned her gaze on the lay sister, examining her from head to toe with a scrutinizing eye. Finally, after a long consideration, Anouk nodded, "Very well, you can come."

The lay sister took Anouk's hands, much to her surprise. "Thank you! I appreciate being given this chance, I shall go retrieve my things."

"… Should she so much as breathe a word of the canticles at me, I will set her hair on fire," Morrigan promised, crossing her arms indignantly as Leliana left.

.

.

They heard the shouting almost as soon as they exited the tavern and Alistair recognized the accents almost at the same time Anouk did. Rolling letters and hard consonants - the same pattern of speech Anouk herself had. She immediately broke off from the group toward the voices and Alistair thought she might faint from the way the color drained from her face.

"I saw you take the goods!" a Ferelden was shouting.

"Your grassland eyes are weak, a Chasind would never stoop to petty theft!"

It was a small group of three Chasind facing off against a slightly larger group of Fereldens. Even if it were not for the pattern of their speech, Alistair would still have known them for Chasind. Like Anouk, their skin was a sun-kissed bronze and their armor accented with fur. And even from the distance, Alistair could see the markings on their arms - one matching Anouk's, but the two others were different snaking up their arms and breeching the neck of their armor to decorate the side of their neck and face.

Anouk stepped forward to place herself between the group, speaking to the Fereldens. The Fereldens were unarmed, but the Chasind were all twitching near the hilts of their weapons. The exchange lasted a minute or so, Anouk growing redder in the face with each passing moment until she shouted at the unarmed men about their ignorance and loudly sent them on their way.

Anouk turned to her people, eyes darting between the three of them disbelief written plainly in her expression. Alistair watched the exchange with interest, all three of the Chasind stepped before Anouk and slowly reached out toward the bird's skull necklace Anouk wore (which Alistair thought was a little creepy), each of them then leaned toward her and placed a kiss on the skull and bowed away from her. Anouk smiled at them, the first true smile he had seen her wear since leaving Flemeth's before she herself reached out to each one of them placing her hand on their chests, over their hearts and saying something in their language that Alistair did not understand.

Alistair shouted to Anouk that he was going in search of Dmitri and left her, not wishing to intrude. Morrigan had departed after leaving the tavern to purchase things they needed, or so she said; Alistair wouldn't have been surprised if she was actually purchasing poison to drop into their stew later.

Alistair found his fellow Warden sitting on an overturned crate against the wall surrounding the Chantry. As he approached, Alistair could see the tendon standing out in Dmitri's jaw, the firm set of his mouth as he clenched his teeth. If Dmitri were to look up, Alistair knew that his eyes would be nearly black with rage.

"Find out anything interesting?" Alistair asked as he drew closer.

Dmitri swallowed and exhaled slowly. "Lothering's been abandoned."

The news registered slowly until Alistair asked, "What do you mean Lothering's been abandoned?"

His eyes shot up to Alistair as dark and deep as nighttime waters and twice as turbulent. "Did I stammer?" he snapped. "Lothering has been abandoned to its fate. Loghain came through a few days ago and demanded that the Bann, all of his men and every man able enough join his march to Denerim."

"He took all of their protection?" Alistair wondered.

Dmitri nodded, "From what I can tell. The exception is the Templars who refused to go." Dmitri cast his gaze around at the sordid town, "They at least would not abandon these people."

"How many?"

"Not nearly enough," he sighed. A short laugh escaped Dmitri's lips and filled the air between them, "That's not even the best part."

"Oh, it gets better? Lovely."

"Loghain has placed the blame on us for Ostagar. The King's death, the whole of the army - it's all on you, me and Anouk… well, the Grey Wardens anyhow but as you said, _we are the Grey Wardens_." Dmitri said. "We've been branded as traitors and there's a considerable price on our heads."

"No, I knew that already. After you left the tavern, a few of Loghain's men walked in," Alistair told him. "I've been… trying not to think about it." He snapped his fingers, "And that reminds me, Anouk is letting a crazy lay sister come with us."

"Crazy?" Dmitri echoed, one eyebrow arching neatly.

Alistair nodded, "As in is probably a few bricks short of a house."

Dmitri nodded slowly, "I see."

And then Alistair felt someone bump into him as they pushed past him. It was Anouk, storming toward the Chantry with her hands balled into fists with Morrigan trailing behind. "The utter gall!" she exclaimed as she climbed the steps.

"What is she doing?" Alistair asked the witch.

"T'would seem that Anouk intends to bring a qunari with us."

"Where did she find a qunari?" Alistair asked.

Dmitri looked up and snickered, "You really don't pay much attention to your surroundings, do you?"

* * *

><p><strong>Poor Alistair. :( <strong>

**Heading to Redcliffe next chapter and we'll get to see  
>how Anouk reacts to Alistair being a bastard prince... <strong>

**Thank you to Cibiripilli, Judy and olivegbg for reviewing the  
>last chapter! :D <strong>

**-(gxr)- **


	10. X

**Wilder**

.

.

**X**

.

.

The qunari Anouk recruited to their party creeped Alistair out. Maybe it was his eyes, a light lavender color Alistair had never seen before, though there was something cold, judgmental, undeniably… frightening in his stare. Or perhaps it was the fact that Sten towered over Alistair and Dmitri by two heads, and the size of his hands could probably completely cover Alistair's face. Then again, it could possibly have something to do with the fact that Sten _killed eight people with his bare hands. _It baffled Alistair that Anouk was perfectly okay to have the murdering qunari travel with them but _not_ the Chantry sister.

That didn't seem to bother Anouk though who had gotten herself thrown out of the Chantry for threatening the Revered Mother as she tried to convince the old woman to relinquish the key to his cage. Well, the Templars tried to throw her out anyway, it was a little difficult for them considering their heavy plate and robes and Anouk being a lithe thing who was throwing elbows and knees as they "escorted" her out with the Revered Mother screeching "_get that barbarian out of the house of the Maker!_" all the while.

"Just what did you think you would accomplish by threatening the old biddy?" Dmitri had wondered, though he had been entertained by the whole scene.

"It clearly did not matter what I said to her, as soon as the old woman realized I was Chasind, she was not going to give me anything I requested," Anouk had replied and crossed her arms.

Leliana had come out of the Chantry shortly after, rucksack thrown over her shoulder, red in the face once again. She had witnessed Anouk's scene with the Revered Mother and was not happy about it, at all. The crazy lay sister yelled at Anouk for a moment, gesticulating wildly, her accent growing thicker in her ire, but Anouk quickly stopped Leliana's rant and told her that if she still wished to come that Anouk would require her to retrieve the key to Sten's cage. Leliana huffed and floundered before she stomped back up the Chantry steps.

As he walked, he looked around at his traveling companions: a Chasind-turned-Grey-Warden, an noble-turned-Grey-Warden, a swamp witch, a Chantry sister who heard voices, and a killer qunari. Their group didn't exactly fill Alistair with much enthusiasm. Outside the Wilds, Morrigan was an apostate; no one would respect Anouk because she was Chasind; a powerful noble was out for Dmitri's blood; no one would trust Leliana because she was Orlesian; Alistair, himself, was an inconvenience to the throne and because they now had Sten traveling with them, Alistair would likely sleep with one eye open.

They helped a traveling dwarven merchant and his son from a small group of darkspawn not far outside of Lothering on the Imperial Highway. Bodahn was nice and helpful, more helpful than the merchants in Lothering, giving them a discount on his wares and accepting higher prices for what the party sold him.

They followed Anouk as she ventured off the Imperial Highway to tromp through unbeaten paths, occasionally stopping to look around and every once in awhile crouching down to inspect something. Night was settling in fast, chill creeping through Alistair's splintmail to wrap icy fingers around his bones. He could see Leliana rubbing her arms though the woman dared not speak and every time Dmitri breathed his breath made a hazy cloud in front of his face. Sten was silent, the cold made no difference to him and Morrigan had turned into a wolf, trotting just ahead of the them and occasionally circling back to weave through the group. Alistair wisely kept his mouth shut when the thought that he preferred Morrigan as a wolf bloomed in his mind.

"Anouk, where are we going? We should make camp," Alistair suggested.

"Have you forgotten that we have no tents, no bedrolls? Bodahn had none and neither did the merchants in Lothering," she called back. "Our destination is not much further."

"How can you tell?" Leliana asked.

Anouk stopped and pointed slightly to her right and for a moment Alistair could see nothing, but he followed the direction of Anouk's finger until an assortment of stones and twigs and leaves came into his view at the base of a tree. There was nothing special or different about the small collection, it simply looked like the twigs and leaves had fallen from the branches naturally no different than any other. Confused, he felt his eyebrows push together, "What is that?"

"A trail sign," Anouk replied, "left by my people to let any Chasind fleeing the Wilds know there is a camp not far from here. My kin in Lothering told me they were camped off the Highway and that they can offer us what supplies we need."

It did not take much longer before the Chasind were upon them. Anouk had stopped abruptly, listening and Alistair strained his ears to hear what she did but the only thing he heard was the sounds of nature, nothing to make him believe anyone was near them. How wrong he was. They shifted into existence from the trees themselves, rose from the underbrush, drawing forward cautiously with bows trained on them.

"_Kaga egoi_?" One of them said.

Beside him, Alistair heard Anouk swallow. "_Saqwu vhnai hia Kanati_."

It was the first time Alistair was close enough to hear Anouk speak fluently in her native tongue. Though there was nothing wrong with the way Anouk spoke common, the syllables of the Chasind language tumbled out of her mouth pleasantly. He didn't hear the slight hesitations he sometimes did when she spoke common as though she was unsure of her wording or pronunciation, her voice was resonant, confident. The cadence of her words, that were incomprehensible Alistair, fit inside the timbre of Anouk's voice just a bit better as was to be expected of a person speaking their native language.

The man lowered his bow and nodded, "_Dehana_."

They followed the man breaking through a copse of trees into the camp that was brightly lit by several fires. A dozen tents were pitched around the camp and at least three dozen pairs of eyes looked up as their group stepped into the Chasind camp. Alistair abruptly felt the desire to disappear back into the tree line of the clearing for all the glaring expressions he saw directed at them and held in his instinct to place his hand on the hilt of his sword. He briefly wondered if it was how Anouk felt whenever she ventured out of the Wilds - out of place and guarded.

Though he carried no staff, Alistair knew the old man for what he was when he walked toward Anouk; he felt the energies of the Shaman's magic tingle all along his senses, felt the uncomfortable pull of it in his gut. He approached with another man, slightly younger than the white-haired Shaman, but dressed just as fantastically in colorful clothing adorned with fur and feathers and jewelry made from bone. The second man's hair reached his waist and was neatly tied back from his face that bore the marking of the Chasind men Alistair had seen in Lothering.

Anouk spoke to the two men for a few moments, gesticulating as she answered their inquiries. Finally, there came a moment where the Shaman held out his hands to Anouk and she removed her bow from her shoulder before handing it to the old man. Alistair watched with mild curiosity as the old man's hands moved along the wood of the bow, his fingers seeming to feel for something he would not have been able to find with his eyes.

After the Shaman handed Anouk her bow she turned to the group. "They will allow us to camp here for the night and have agreed to give us what supplies we need."

.

.

Anouk did not return to their group until much later in the night. Many of the fires had been snuffed out, candles inside the tents had flickered and died. Alistair and Dmitri could not sleep for the nightmares that raged behind their eyes every time they tried and had opted for taking the first watch together.

Alistair had watched the Chasind camp function with interest. There was a definite hierarchy that was strictly adhered to; he had noticed many people stepping out of Anouk's way as she passed through the camp just as they had done for the Shaman and the Chief among them, who had introduced himself as Esarosa. But others did not step away from Anouk as she passed, and these men and women bore the same mark on their arms that Anouk did. What did it make her to them, Alistair wondered.

And then there were others that no one gave any regard to. These men and women were dressed shabbily, no armor as their other tribesmen, merely unremarkable wool clothing and they carried no weapons. Some bore ugly scar tissue on their faces that stretched down their neck disappearing beneath their shirts, others on their upper arms only. Alistair never heard them speak and they kept their eyes strictly on the ground never meeting anyone's gaze and following an order no matter who gave it.

When Anouk returned to them Alistair could see the signs of her exhaustion. Wrinkled brow, bloodshot eyes held by the dark circles beneath them, the slump in her shoulders. She sat across the way from Dmitri and Alistair, sighing as she pulled off her gloves and working her wrists until they popped.

"This must be difficult for you," Dmitri ventured when she did not speak first.

Alistair wondered how badly Anouk wanted to lie to them then, or how much she wished she could play off her discontentment at being among her people again, being reminded that her own tribe no longer lived. Did she think herself weak for being affected? Did she believe that there was something more she could have done to save even one member of her tribe?

But Anouk nodded, "Yes." Another sigh and she turned her head back and forth working the pain from her neck. "They have agreed to help us fight the Blight. Esarosa will be searching for surviving tribes on the outskirts of the Wilds and perhaps move to a temporary camp in the northern lowlands. When the time comes to fight the Archdemon, they will be there."

"Did you ask about my brother?" Dmitri wondered.

"I have," Anouk said. "They have not come across any men from the King's army thus far, I asked them to watch for a man matching your brother's appearance."

Dmitri nodded, "I appreciate it, Anouk."

"_Gvlieliga_." she replied. "You are welcome."

"I was… curious," Alistair began, "what are you to your people? They move out of your way as they would the Chief and Shaman."

Her hand went to the bird's skull hung around her throat, "I amthe daughter of a Chief and though they are not my tribe I am still recognized as such."

"So you're… Chasind royalty?"

A small smile quirked the corner of Anouk's mouth, "Nothing so fanciful, I assure you. Were I born a man I would become Chief, but as it stands I am a woman, my husband would have been Chief if I married. And I would have become one of the _Agigau… _the Greatly Beloved Woman."

Then a bizarre sadness that Alistair did not understand filled her eyes and her fingertips came to rest on her mouth. Had she been betrothed at one point, and had her intended died in the battle with the darkspawn? Something in Alistair's chest clenched seeing the expression overcome her features but he resisted the urge to reach out and rest his hand on her knee. With great effort it seemed, Anouk clenched her eyelids shut and shook her head and when her lashes fluttered apart he recognized the distance returning to her pale eyes.

"And your tattoo?" Dmitri asked, having stepped out of his sulking for a moment.

"My… what? I… do not know that word," Anouk admitted, her cheeks coloring.

"The mark on your arm," he clarified.

"Ah," Anouk answered. "It is my _signa_, or mark given to me after I underwent what my people call a _Signum, _that is our coming of age ritual. It shows that I am one of the _Kanati_, or a hunter."

"What did you have to do to become a hunter?" Alistair asked.

"I was sent to the _ajewia_, the frozen land beyond the Wilds by myself and I could not return until I brought back my first kill," she replied. "It was a white wolf whose pelt I wear even still, many of the hunters wear the pelt of their first." Anouk ran her hand over the pelt tied at her hips and a rueful smile spread across her lips, "I still bear the scars he gave me."

Dmitri leaned forward engrossed in Anouk's story. "How old were you when you went through this?"

"I had seen fourteen summers."

"I assume you were given your bow when you returned?" Dmitri asked.

She nodded, "Yes. My bow was crafted for my hands only which is why the _Ganagati _asked to look at it, to ensure that it was, in fact, my bow and not another's."

Alistair asked the next question. "And if it was another's?"

"It would have been taken from me and I would lose my _signa_," she replied with a shrug. "A hunter must never lose his bow, just as a _Ditlihi, _or warrior, must never lose his sword. If he does, he has dishonored his tribe and the Great Spirit and becomes one of the _Usiwa, _the vacant; he is no longer permitted to speak and is reduced to nothing more than a servant, compliant until death, expected to sacrifice himself first in a battle so that in his death, he may reach the ghost country with a clean spirit."

Alistair thought back to the few men and women he had seen walking back and forth through the camp, scarred, running errands and following orders from others. These must have been the _Usiwa, _the vacant, stripped of their status - literally. Their marks had been cut from their skin, the scars left behind a reminder of the disgrace they carried. He thought it cruel, _barbaric_ even… until he remembered that the Circle did something similar to mages. Considering that the vacant still dreamed, still felt emotions, it made the Rite of Tranquility seem the more barbaric practice.

"You should get some sleep," Alistair suggested to Anouk. They should all get some sleep really, none of them had rested since leaving Flemeth's almost a day and a half ago. "It's nearly a week's trek to Redcliffe."

Anouk nodded, "Perhaps, but I will stay with you on watch."

.

.

Anouk couldn't help but shake her head and smile at the two men, both snoring lightly in their sleep, one of them occasionally muttering something incomprehensible before shifting and settling again. Every so often she would see their foreheads wrinkle and noises of discontent reached her ears, but Alistair and Dmitri rested well for awhile.

She would have fallen asleep herself, but Anouk was able to push past her exhaustion as it was sometimes required of a hunter when tracking prey. She stoked the fire when it dimmed, trying desperately to keep the lump in her throat from rising higher. Being among her people again was almost too much. The overwhelming sensation of being with her kin, of belonging with people who knew her, who knew her soul, how her mind worked because of her culture and would not judge her because of it was almost enough to make her stay with the camp. But when she looked to Alistair and Dmitri, who were both looking to her, she knew she could not leave them.

And she could not let down her people. She had told Esarosa of her Grey Warden status, of their plan to gather an army to combat the Blight. He had said that if times were not so dire, they would have celebrated Anouk being a Grey Warden for it was a high honor. Word quickly spread through the camp that she had become a Grey Warden and it did not take long for Anouk to see the shift in everyone's gaze when they looked at her. The unabashed awe and the sickening hope they placed on her all because of what she had become, and the stories of the Wardens they had heard through the Shaman. But they knew not what it took to become a Grey Warden. She felt unworthy of their trust, of their praise and hero-worship because she was deceiving them - wearing a human guise even as the Dark One's taint undulated in her blood.

She distracted herself for a time pulling the Grey Warden treaties from Alistair's pack to look them over. The papyrus was thin with age, almost transparent and it amazed Anouk that they had remained intact for so many years. The paper was soft beneath her fingers, wrinkled and creased from being rolled, unrolled, folded and unfolded countless times over. The ink that was used to write them had faded somewhat over time, but the letters were elegant, spidery, looped and connected as they sprawled across the pages in neat rows.

And none of it made _any_ sense to Anouk.

Some of the letters were vaguely familiar bearing the smallest resemblance to her own language, but the way they were arranged and put together to form words was unintelligible. She had been speaking common for most of her life, had learned it at a young age from one of the Chantry missionaries who came to her village. The man… Brother Rouen his name had been, if she remembered correctly, had actually lived in her village for quite a few years, most of her childhood, in fact. Her father had always been relatively open to the Chantry missionaries who came to the village, at least the ones who were not overly zealous, and he had liked Rouen because the missionary had actually taken the time to understand the Chasind culture. So when Rouen asked her father to allow him to teach the children to read and speak the common tongue used in Ferelden, her father allowed it. But she never learned to read common, she never had the patience to sit and learn letters - she learned as most children did, by example, by doing and listening to him speak.

Leliana emerged from one of the tents, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she blearily ambled her way to Anouk's side and plopped down. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked.

"Probably," Anouk answered, "but Alistair and Dmitri fell asleep on their watch and I decided to let them rest for now."

"You can sleep, it is my watch now," the lay sister said, giving Anouk a reassuring smile.

But Anouk shook her head, "I will sleep when we make camp next." She motioned to the papers in her hands, "I am trying to make sense of these."

Leliana's eyebrows knitted together taking in the small collection of papers in Anouk's hand, "What are they?"

"Our Grey Warden treaties. Alistair says they allow us to demand aid from dwarves, and elves, and mages during a Blight."

"… And you do not understand them?" Leliana inquired.

Anouk shook her head again. "I… cannot read them," she admitted, her voice sounding small and she felt her cheeks burn with shame.

Leliana's eyebrows shot up in surprise and her blue eyes widened. "Truly? But you are so well spoken!"

Sighing Anouk told her, "Speaking and reading do not necessarily coincide. I learned your common tongue from a Chantry missionary, I did not have the temperament to sit and learn letter arrangements."

Leliana nodded in understanding, looking sidelong at the treaties still in Anouk's hand. Anouk did not yet know what she thought of the lay sister who so brazenly told them she was going to accompany them on their mission to defeat the Blight. At first Anouk feared the woman would be as preachy as many of the lay sisters that came to the village and inevitably ran screaming from it. But so far Leliana had proven to be a rather quiet companion, her voice and the pleasant character of it putting Anouk at ease as she hummed to herself.

Anouk heard Leliana swallow beside her and take a hesitant breath before she said, "I could teach you, if you'd like."

Anouk found herself nodding, "I would like that, Leliana."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter ten already? Whaaat? I feel like I just posted<br>chapter one the other day, how am I this far already? Hmm. **

**Okay so I lied, we're not really on our way to Redcliffe yet.  
>Next chapter, I promise! I wanted a chance to touch on<br>Chasind culture a bit before the story and the game plot  
>really had a chance to overshadow it.<strong>

**The whole conversation Anouk has with Dmitri and Alistair**  
><strong>is entirely my imagination. And I also wanted to explain<strong>  
><strong>how Anouk is so well spoken for being a Wilder.<strong>

**Ahh yes lots of new words this chapter. Kind of. I went  
>back and edited chapter 2 and put some new words in that one<br>so if you have not read the edited chapter two some of these will  
>be new. <strong>

**Kaga egoi? - Who goes? **

**Saqwu vhnai hia Kanati - One of the hunters**

**Dehana - come**

**Gvlieliga - You're welcome**

**Agigau - Greatly Beloved Woman [which in cherokee culture is not what I explained it**  
><strong>to be for Chasind culture. Look it up if you're curious, it would take too long for me to<strong>  
><strong>explain it]<strong>

**Signa/Signum - mark/marking. [This I actually got from the latin for "marking". I used**  
><strong>it before I had figure out what language I was going to use for Chasing language, and I'm now<strong>  
><strong>too lazy to change it]<strong>

**ajewia_ - _waste [the lands south of the Wilds is described as a frozen wasteland, but  
>cherokee has no word for "wasteland" so it is merely a waste]<strong>

**Kanati - hunter**

**Ditlihi - warrior **

**Usiwa - vacant**

**And that's it for translations. Thank you to  
>Cibiripilli, Judy and olivegbg for reviewing the last chapter!<br>I love you guys. There used to be more of you reviewing,  
>where'd everyone go? [sadface]<strong>

**Anyway, enough rambling. See you next chapter!**

**-(gxr)-**

**EDITED: 12/22**


	11. XI

**Wilder**

.

.

**XI**

.

.

It was a steady to journey to Redcliffe. They would start early, before the sun had breeched the horizon and would not stop until everyone was near collapse from exhaustion and the moon hung in the sky. Despite various protests, Anouk often ventured away from the group as the rest of them pitched camp to hunt their dinner, many times Morrigan would accompany her, trotting alongside and ahead of her in her wolf form. The two women would return a few hours later with small game, rabbits or foxes and fowl shot from the sky. Then Anouk would sit and clean the kills, hands and dagger moving with an efficiency only a hunter could possess as she skinned and gutted the carcasses putting the good, usable meat in the pot for Leliana to cook.

It was on their second night away from the Chasind camp, once again near the Imperial Highway, that Anouk heard the creaking and rattling of an approaching wagon. She rose to her feet, picking up her bow to load an arrow and moved toward the direction of the noise. It was not darkspawn, Anouk knew, but she could just make out the outline of the caravan in the darkness. Behind the creaking and rattling she could not make out any other noises aside from the shifting of the wagon's contents.

When the ox finally pulled into the camp and came to a halt in front of Anouk, the small, bearded and stocky man they met on the highway hopped down from his perch. "You certainly are a hard woman to find!" he said jovially. "I thought we lost you for sure."

"… Bodahn… yes? Why… are you here?" Anouk wondered.

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders, "You and your friends are formidable folk, after you left me and my son I realized there was no safer place to be in these times than a Grey Warden's camp. I hope you don't mind."

Anouk shook her head. "You are welcome here, Bodahn though in exchange I would ask that you re-supply us when we need it."

"Of course," Bodahn replied.

Anouk returned to her place by the fire as Bodahn maneuvered his wagon to the far side of the camp. She watched the small man and his son set up their own branch of the camp, very aware that her watch would soon be coming to an end and Alistair's would be starting. She was so tired but dreaded sleep. The last few times she tried, Anouk was startled awake by the onslaught of nightmares - the whispers and murmuring, not to mention the constant smoke and haze; the hungry eyes that watched her, the hands that grabbed her clothes and hair. It woke her with a racing heart and sweat-dampened forehead, but she was never asleep long enough to wake up yelling as Dmitri had the night before.

Dmitri's yelling had managed to raise Anouk from the rare moment of peaceful slumber she had found so far, but she did not leave her tent. Instead she laid there, listening to Alistair explain what the nightmares meant; that they were another part of being a Grey Warden. Hearing it had made Anouk clench her teeth together so hard and suddenly, they clicked audibly.

The taint would even take her dreams from her!

No more dreaming of her village as she did before the Joining, of the people who made it her home. Anouk would no longer see her father, Menawa, once a great _Kanati_ as she was, before he became Chief - he was the reason she wanted to _be_ a hunter! Anouk would no longer dream of him, his aged face and deep, husked voice, or his eyes that portrayed the pride he felt in his daughter but rarely showed. No more recalling Aleshanee using a loop of string woven and knotted between her hands to illustrate her tales, thrilling and enthralling her audience… No more dreaming of Taiomah, of his dark, shining eyes and crooked smile.

And perhaps most precious to Anouk: the few memories she had of her mother, Povitamun, that she could only ever recall in dreams. Even thinking about her Anouk's hand raised to a charm in her hair, worn now from her years of attention, but she could still feel the small ridges of the petals of the flower - not as detailed as they once were, but still there. Her father said that Povitamun carved the flower for Anouk while her mother still carried her and the care and intricate detail that went into the small flower, no bigger than a silver, told Anouk the depth of her mother's love for her.

The only things she had left of her village and her family - her dreams where they were perfectly preserved were being replaced by monsters with decaying skin and black blood, and a dragon whose roars registered as physically painful. Her tribe, her family, all delegated to pure memory, stored somewhere in her mind where their images would fade with time until she would no longer be able to recall the color of her father's eyes, the breathy cadence of Aleshanee's words, or that Taiomah always smelled of leather and earth.

"Is that Bodahn?" Anouk looked up as Alistair took a seat not far from her, hair askew and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He wasn't in full armor but set his sword and shield down beside him.

"_Asehi_," Anouk answered with a nod, "he asked if he and his son could camp with us. So long as he minds himself I do not see anything wrong with them being here."

Alistair nodded. "You should get some sleep."

"I know," she said with a defeated sigh. "It is… difficult."

"You mean the nightmares?" She swallowed thickly and nodded. Alistair sighed, "You can learn to block them out to at least get a decent night's sleep. Try meditating, clearing your mind before you go to bed - it gets easier with time."

Silence dominated the air around them as Alistair reached out to stoke the small fire and Anouk could see the flames dancing, reflected in his eyes. He still had not spoken much since leaving Lothering and it occurred to Anouk that he wanted, perhaps needed, to talk to someone about Duncan and what happened at Ostagar. She had been able to see how he carried it, weighing down his shoulders and pressing the corners of his mouth into a scowl that Anouk thought did not belong on Alistair's face. But surely Dmitri would be better suited to speak to Alistair of such things? They were of the same ilk, both Fereldens surely with the same basic religious beliefs. Anouk was Chasind, her beliefs did not allow her to vocally dwell on those who passed so what comfort would she be to Alistair.

Yet, Anouk cleared her throat. "Alistair… would you like to speak about -" she stopped herself just short of saying his name.

"Duncan?" he supplied and she nodded, but Alistair shook his head. "It's nice of you to offer, but you don't have to do that."

That should have been all the invitation Anouk needed to drop the matter, but she could see the negative effect Duncan's name was having on Alistair. He had spoken the fallen Commander's name, risen his spirit from its afterlife and now it dogged him, brought up things he probably didn't want to remember. This contemplative, stoic and closed off version of Alistair unsettled Anouk and so she found herself raising to her feet to sit beside him.

"My people do not speak the names of those who have gone to the ghost country because we wish them a restful afterlife," she began, struggling to find the words because she found herself in a situation she had never before encountered - comforting the bereaved. "In my observation of your people -"

"… 'My people'?"

"Fereldens… those who follow your Chant, who do not believe as I do." Anouk amended, then continued with a sigh, "From what I have been able to gather you often speak of those who have died, it appears to bring some sort of… peace to speak of them to others, to vocally remember them. Why do you deny yourself that?"

Alistair snorted and brushed his hand across his mouth. "Maybe because I feel I should have been there with him, I feel as though I abandoned him."

Anouk did not understand that. Alistair begrudged himself his life because Duncan had lost his own? "But then you would have died as well."

"I know that," he said quietly. "It must seem strange to you who lets go of your dead so easily -"

She almost laughed. "You think it is easy, you think I have 'let them go'?" Anouk cut him off, unable to keep the sudden harsh edge from her voice. "It is not and I have not! But I do not begrudge myself my own life because those I love lost their own. I would not be honoring their deaths if I spent my time wishing I had joined them."

Alistair opened his mouth to speak again but seemed to think better of it and snapped his jaw shut. He hung his head and clenched his eyes and after several moments, finally lifted his head again to met her gaze, his eyes darkened by grief. He attempted to give Anouk a smile but it turned into more of a twisted grimace. "You're right. Duncan even warned me from the beginning he could die, that any of us could die. Even so, I shouldn't have lost it not when there's so much riding on us… I-I'm sorry."

Anouk's brief irritation with Alistair deflated with the next sigh she exhaled. Alistair seemed to her to be terribly naïve and misguided. Like a bird with a damaged wing attempting to take to the air again, Duncan's death seemed to have left Alistair floundering and fluttering pathetically. He had no guiding force, no path of his own to follow and it made Anouk wonder if Alistair had ever made a single decision on his own in his entire life.

"May I share something with you?" she asked him. Alistair looked to her again, eyes no longer cloaked in sorrow but still hooded, the emotion lurking; unable to be fully hidden. He nodded, bidding her to continue. "My people believe that every moment of our lives prepares us for the singular event that sets us on the path we are meant to travel in our lives. The night my village was attacked was that event in my life, though I have some… apprehensions about it, I am meant to walk the path of a Grey Warden, eternally avenging my tribe."

"So... you're saying what happened at Ostagar put me on my path?" he questioned.

Anouk shook her head, "No. If it was, you would not have delegated yourself to follow. Which means that you are being prepared for something much greater."

Alistair looked away from her, back into the fire. "… I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

.

.

Anouk woke screaming, blindly fumbling for her bow or her axes, or anything she could use as a weapon. The nightmare still held her in its dark grasp and when hands gripped her shoulders to ground her, she lashed out. Their voice as it called to her was not familiar, the weight of their hands was not comforting. They were merely an entity from a night terror sent to bring her into another.

She kicked, lashing out with each cry determined to be free of the nightmare even if she had to physically rip herself from it. Anouk's nose was still filled with the scent of smoke and blood, her ears still rang with screams and wet blood-choked gasps. She still saw the darkspawn descending on the small town they hadn't been able to help.

Anouk's fists hit flesh several times until the person trying to wake her grabbed her wrists to force her still. But still she struggled and after a couple more moments, their hands clamped on either side of her face.

"Anouk, stop!" they shouted. "Stop, you know me! Look at me!"

Anouk shook her head, willing the last wisps of the nightmare from her mind as everything became less blurred and came sharply back into focus. Dmitri had a hold of her face, his eyes wide and haunted by fear as blood dripped out of his nose from a blow she no doubt delivered only moments ago. Behind him, Anouk could see Alistair crouched in the entrance of her small tent, his expression a mask of concern.

"Thank the Maker," Dmitri sighed, dropping his hands. "I thought we lost you there for a moment."

She wiped her face, conscious of the fact that her cheeks were wet with tears she didn't remember shedding. It must have been close to time to pull up camp and begin the day's travels, it was the only explanation for both Dmitri and Alistair being awake and she did not see her own terror reflected in either of their expressions. Once again she had seen something neither of them had.

"What did you dream?" Alistair asked her.

Anouk opened her mouth to reply, but her stomach raced with the words and beat them to her mouth. Her stomach cramped, tripped and rolled dangerously and Anouk scrambled from the tent urgently, pushing Alistair over in her haste and she was barely out of the tent before she emptied the meager contents of her stomach in the dirt. Her heart fluttered behind her ribs as new tears raced down her face and Anouk tried to scrape the sour taste from her tongue with her teeth. They were the only ones awake but Anouk absently wondered if she had woken the others with her screams but they were too polite to emerge and see what had happened.

Alistair's hand rested on her back hesitantly, then when he felt her trembling the pressure increased until he was rubbing circles into the muscle of her back. "Maker, you're shaking!" he breathed.

"Lothering's gone," she finally rasped, voice weak and haggard.

She wondered briefly if this was how Alistair felt after learning the fate of the army after Ostagar: utterly useless and crushingly helpless. Anouk had been practical about the battle, she knew the chance of the battle plan working was slim and it was a _war_, people were going to die… but at least they would die fighting. The people of Lothering could make no such claim, they were farmers, shepherds, merchants and many of them had probably never raised a blade in their life; they died terrified and helpless. There was no real need for all those people to have died. They should have made more of an attempt to make them understand how near the darkspawn were, should have urged them to move elsewhere.

What was the point of being a Grey Warden if not to protect people from the darkspawn?

"Damn it," Dmitri hissed and with a sigh he crossed the camp, kicking a tin cup away from him. Anouk watched him plop to the ground, lowering his head into his hands.

"… There wasn't much we could have done," Alistair tried to assure her. Anouk shook her head, sniffling, but did not vocalize her disagreement with his statement although he hadn't sounded so convinced himself. They could have tried harder and somewhere, Alistair had to know it as well.

The others emerged from their tents not long after and Leliana, who was the best cook among them, began to prepare breakfast as everyone else packed up camp and prepared to set out once again. Anouk packed her things diligently and in silence, the monotony of arranging and organizing her things settling her shaking hands and easing her mind into a concentrated lull.

"I have something for you."

Anouk looked up from packing, shocked that Morrigan had ventured from the area of the camp she had claimed. The witch regarded Anouk with the same bleak neutrality she had ever since they left Flemeth's hut. The only deviation Anouk had witnessed in Morrigan's demeanor was the day spent in Lothering when she voiced her approval of freeing Sten from his cage. Though Morrigan accompanied Anouk hunting, the two women rarely spoke. What was there to say? That they missed the other's companionship? Unlikely. Truthfully, Anouk had almost forgotten about Morrigan and if it were not for that fateful day in the Wilds, she probably would have.

"You have something for me?" Anouk echoed.

Morrigan nodded, "Indeed." She then presented Anouk with a small vial filled with a dark liquid.

Anouk felt an eyebrow raise as she took the vial from her childhood friend. "Poison? I admit I did not think you would be so open about it."

"So distrusting," Morrigan t'sked. "I heard what the fool told you about the nightmares. This will… help."

"With the nightmares?"

The witch shook her head, "No. That is something with which I cannot help. This will allow you to sleep longer, feel more rested."

"I… _wah doe_, Morrigan," Anouk replied, "I did not think you were one to give gifts."

"Tis not a gift. I hear the three of you thrash about in your dreams and it is most irritating."

Morrigan left then, returning to her area of the camp without a backward glance. Anouk looked to the vial in her hand and could not help the small smile that crossed her face. Morrigan could deny it all she wanted, but Anouk knew she had just been given a gift, considering it could have just as easily been given to Dmitri or Alistair… unless their nightmares didn't matter to Morrigan. Something still bound the two women whether they were willing to acknowledge it or not. Perhaps the friendship they had gleaned as children, so innocent and carefree then, was salvageable yet.

.

.

Since there was not much to talk about as they walked, Alistair, Dmitri and Anouk talked about themselves. What else was there to talk about? Ostagar? Loghain's retreat that lead to the army's defeat and the poor battle plan that compounded it? Or perhaps the near impossible task they were to accomplish? No, talking about themselves was safe and it allowed them to get to know one another better.

Dmitri talked about his life with a fondness that Anouk envied. Being a noble's son it wasn't a surprise that he'd lived an idyllic childhood with doting parents and an older brother who doubled as best friend and confidant. He spoke of wanting so badly to be everything that Fergus was, of their good-natured sibling rivalry. Dmitri remembered how he had begun to grow frustrated with his mother's nagging and pestering him to take a wife and start a family. He also told them of learning sword-play with his childhood best friend who would eventually join the guard and how Ser Gilmore had sacrificed himself to give him time to find his father before Howe's men broke down the door.

Alistair's life had not been so cheery. He said his mother was a servant at Redcliffe Castle who died when he was still very young and after that Arl Eamon oversaw his childhood. He told them that he'd never had a real friend in his entire life aside from the horses in the stable and the mousing cat. But he also admitted that he did not bear any grudge toward Eamon because Alistair understood the implications of Eamon's "raising" him; he'd at least had a roof over his head, hot meals and clean clothes. Then Eamon had married Lady Isolde and it was not long afterward that he was given to the Chantry. Alistair's voice held such disdain when he spoke of the abbey and Leliana had said it was strange he hated it so because she had found such peace and clarity. Alistair's reply had been simple: "you weren't there against your will." He said Duncan had saved him in a way he didn't think possible.

Being Chasind, Anouk's life was vastly different from Alistair and Dmitri's. She'd had the bird skull necklace for as long as she could remember and as a child did not understand why her people would step out of her way. She admitted to spending years trying to convince her father to allow her to train with the _Kanati_, and how he had refused her.

"Why would he refuse you?" Leliana had asked.

"Because I had no siblings and even as the Chief's daughter I am just as susceptible to becoming one of the vacant as anyone else," Anouk replied. "All I was meant to be is one of the _Agigau._"

"You did not accept your place, I am hardly surprised," Sten said.

Anouk shook her head, "I did not have a place - I _fought_ for one."

She talked about how it was eventually Aleshanee who convinced her father to allow her to become a hunter and it was after that he distanced himself from her and nothing she ever did seemed to please him. It wasn't until there was war among the Chasind tribes that her father accepted her place among the hunters. She had proved her skill earning her one of the only compliments she ever remembered receiving from Menawa; that she had fought with the cleverness of the fox and the great strength of the bear. It was also when she earned the earring she wore in her left ear - a trophy of the war, a long intricately carved piece of bone from one of her victims that had been painstakingly inlaid with silver. But she didn't tell them about Taiomah from a selfish desire to keep his memory to herself, to hold onto something that made her a little happy.

.

.

The night before they reached Redcliffe, Alistair, looking ready to vomit sat himself down with Dmitri and Anouk. Sweat was beading on his forehead and she could see where he had been chewing on his lips, where the dry skin had cracked and bled. "There's something I need to tell the two of you," Alistair began, his voice quiet.

Anouk's nerves immediately went on edge at his tone - the tone of someone who had something to confess. "We are not going to like this, are we?"

Alistair's gaze darted to her and she immediately recognized the dark flicker through his features. He was feeling guilty. "I doubt it," he replied. "I've never liked it. Remember how I said that Arl Eamon raised me? Well, his reasons weren't entirely altruistic…"

"Is this where you're going to tell us that you're Cailan's brother?" Dmitri cut in.

The shock that overtook Alistair's expression was almost comical and Anouk briefly thought his heart had failed. He simply stared at Dmitri for a few moments until he blinked, "Wha - how?"

Dmitri snorted, "C'mon now, I am the son of a Teyrn. There have been rumors of a bastard son of King Maric for as long as I can recall. I pieced it together at Ostagar; why else would Cailan request that you - by name no doubt - be kept from the fighting? And it doesn't help that you look like him."

Anouk said nothing as she clenched her teeth and her fists, resisting the urge to throttle Alistair. She could see it now, how much Alistair resembled Cailan, the same chiseled jaw, straight nose and the shape of their eyes. But Alistair's mouth was fuller and his eyes a warm hazel to Cailan's cool blue.

"I… wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how and I figured it would come out in Redcliffe anyway, but I wanted you to hear it from me," Alistair said, but he was looking directly at Anouk.

"You should have told us sooner," she replied. But did she really mean "us" or "me"? It shouldn't have surprised Anouk that Alistair admitted to something _else_ he kept from her, but what did surprise her was that it rankled, it _hurt_ to think that she had come to trust him at least a little bit and he appeared not to trust her.

"I know," he said, "but things… change when people find out, they treat me differently. Duncan even kept me out of most of the fighting because of it. I wanted to keep it from you for as long as possible because I didn't want either of you to treat me differently, I wanted you to still think of me as someone unimportant who wasn't lucky enough to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

"You don't really think that?" Dmitri asked, shaking his head. "Alistair, I don't care about your blood, it runs just as red as mine, just as red as Anouk's… you're still my friend."

"Thank you, Dmitri," Alistair said, casting the other man a bright smile. But when he turned to Anouk, she refused to look at him. "Anouk… I -"

She held up her hand cutting him off because she knew that she would forgive him in that moment when he apologized to her. Alistair was an outsider, a grasslander, _nagoligvna_ as she once called him, and he did not understand how serious an offense lying was to her people. There were some things Anouk could afford him, but lying or even a lying by omission, when they would be shedding blood together (when they already had) was not one of them.

Instead, Anouk stood, shouldered her bow and stalked off into the woods.

* * *

><p><strong>Longest chapter to date? I think so. It wasn't supposed to be<br>this long, it was only supposed to cover traveling to Redcliffe  
>and Alistair's "bastard prince" admission. I am LONG WINDED.<br>And this would have been out sooner, but I had to order a new  
>cord for my laptop (it's not supposed to smoke when you<br>plug it in to your computer). **

**Obviously, we're in Redcliffe next chapter. Duh. And can  
>I just say that I cannot wait to write the confrontation with<br>Alistair about Anouk's decision about how she handled  
>Connor's conditon? <strong>

**And now, reviews. Thank you so much to Cibiripilli, **  
><strong>olivegbg, Jobless Josh, Judy, xseikax, and <strong>  
><strong>Rose Tinted Contact Lenses. It's good to see you all again! haha.<br>And I'm extremely flattered that you all enjoyed  
>the Chasind camp scene :) <strong>

**See everyone later! **

**-(gxr)- **


	12. XII

**Wilder**

.

.

**XII**

.

.

When they reached Redcliffe Alistair was ready for a warm welcome, a hot meal and perhaps a few days repose in a nice, furnished castle with comfortable rooms as they collaborated with the Arl about their strategy. He was also hoping that the few days in the castle would perhaps give him the opportunity to speak with Anouk, who would not stop giving him what he dubbed 'the look'; and that was when she bothered to look at him at all. Upon reaching Redcliffe however, Alistair realized that his hopes were perhaps a little lofty and found that his expectations did not exactly sync up with reality.

According to the stuttering and terrified young man who had rushed at them on the road no one had heard from Redcliffe Castle in days. The last thing anyone had heard was that the Arl had fallen gravely ill, and according to Tomas, that's when the attacks began. By Alistair's estimation, Redcliffe had been dealing with the nightly assaults for almost a fortnight and they had yet to learn what was attacking the small fishing village.

"These men are not warriors," Anouk mumbled under her breath as they made their way through the village square.

She was right of course, the militiamen were barely soldiers, just simple men defending their homes and loved ones. Their armor was mismatched and falling apart, their mail was missing links, the plate pocked with dents, the leather old and worn. The archers practicing their shots were shaky at best and they seemed lucky to be able to _hit_ their targets at all from the mere fifty paces distance; Alistair was willing to bet that Anouk could hit the center every time from four times that distance. He could see the weaknesses in the men's shield defenses, and imagined the two dozen ways a blade could slip through and cause a fatal injury.

But Alistair wondered if Anouk was actually seeing Redcliffe when she looked around, or if she was seeing Lothering. Alistair didn't think Anouk was one to care for the people and civilization outside the Wilds, so her reaction to the destruction of Lothering genuinely surprised him. He could see the parallels: a small town that suffered great losses waiting only for the next shoe to drop.

"I had heard in Lothering that Redcliffe soldiers were looking for Andraste's ashes to cure the Arl of his illness," Leliana said. "A few of them stayed for a time searching through the Chantry's library for any information."

"Andraste's ashes?" Dmitri repeated. "Those are a myth."

"One that someone in the castle believes in," the lay sister replied.

The Chantry was obviously being used as the safe house, it was packed with the wounded and the dying, the feeble and the young. Windows low to the ground had been blocked over, the pews pushed against side entrances making lighting in the Chantry provided only by the high windows behind the pulpit and the candelabras. The lay sisters and priests looked harassed and tired as they moved about offering their blessings as they tried to ease what pain they could. It was obvious that whatever poultices and medicinal kits they possessed were not nearly enough, the tortured moans and cries of pain echoing in the place better suited to chanting, quiet prayer and pious contemplation.

Two men were standing in conversation at the head of the Chantry. Alistair did not recognize the man with the impressive moustache, but the other man he recognized instantly despite the fact that it had been almost ten years since he'd seen Bann Teagan. Though still handsome with boyish charm, Teagan's face was pinched in a troubled expression as he dismissed the dark-haired man he was speaking to.

"Bann Teagan?"

Teagan turned and on laying his gaze on Alistair's group, his face brightened, not allowing the young man who called his name to see the anxiety he was surely feeling. "It's Tomas, correct?"

Tomas nodded, "Yes, ser."

Teagan nodded in reply, his gaze once again roaming over Alistair's companions, lingering slightly longer on Anouk and her strange appearance. "And who are these people? I see they are no mere travelers."

Alistair stepped forward, "You don't remember me Bann Teagan?"

The bann's eyes narrowed in concentration, looking over Alistair's face. Alistair really wouldn't have been surprised if Teagan didn't remember him considering that the last time they'd met Alistair barely reached the man's lowest rib and was covered head to toe in mud with the exception of a gleaming white, gap-toothed smile. And Alistair remembered clearly the fit Isolde threw seeing the muddy footprints tracked into the main hall of the castle while Eamon had laughed himself to tears.

"… Alistair? By the Maker, is it really you?" Teagan took two steps toward him and embraced Alistair like a brother. "You're alive, this is… truly the first good news I've recieved in awhile."

"Still alive," Dmitri corrected him. "Though not for much longer if Loghain has anything to say about it. It's good to see you again, Bann Teagan, it's been quite some time."

"So you're a Warden as well, Dmitri?" Teagan asked.

He nodded, "Yes, though at no small cost. The Warden-Commander conscripted me as Highever Castle burned."

"… Burned? I've heard nothing of this."

A curt nod from Dmitri. "Arl Howe has revealed himself as a traitor, I'm sure he thought to advance himself through the chaos of the Blight. He attacked Highever Castle as my brother lead the majority of our men to Ostagar, had I not survived Howe and his men would have gone to Ostagar and told the King any story he wished."

Teagan's face crumpled as he placed his hand on Dmitri's shoulder. "Oh Maker. Dmitri I swear to you, you have Rainesfere's men and I'm sure my brother's as well once these matters are settled, Arl Howe will see justice."

"I appreciate it, Bann Teagan," Dmitri said sincerely. "But that's discussion for another time."

"Yes." Teagan agreed, "Loghain has named himself regent and would have us believe that all the Grey Wardens died along with my nephew… amongst other things."

"No, not all of us died," Anouk said, but she wasn't looking at Teagan. Instead, she stood with her arms crossed, eyes darting around the Chantry.

Alistair didn't miss the surprise that flashed through Teagan's features. "So… you're a Grey Warden as well, my lady?"

A look that was mixed with confusion and distaste pressed Anouk's expression together for a moment and Alistair resisted the urge to chuckle. Surely displeasure was not the common reaction Teagan received from women when he used such an endearment, but Alistair couldn't deny that some part of him… _enjoyed_ Anouk's discontent with Teagan's charm.

But Anouk quickly vanished the expression almost as quickly as it appeared and addressed Teagan once more. "I am. We were hoping to speak with the Arl."

Teagan gave a long-suffering sigh and if Alistair had not been watching Teagan, he would not have believed it when the lines in his face multiplied making the man look almost double his age. "I'm afraid that's quite an impossibility…"

The bann lead them over to two pews that sat facing one another and seemed to be the only ones not used to block a door or window. Alistair, Dmitri and Leliana were the only ones who sat while Sten, Morrigan and Anouk all put their backs against something whether it was the wall or the upturned pews. From the look that crossed her face, Alistair was sure Leliana wanted to scold all three of them for their lack of manners, but something in their faces must have stopped her and when Alistair looked up, he saw it was well - the tense and wary expressions of caged animals. Anouk, Morrigan and Sten did not enjoy being within the walls of the Chantry any more than those in the Chantry wanted them there.

Teagan explained Redcliffe's situation with more clarity than Tomas had been able to offer. According to him, the Arl had fallen ill not long after Duncan's diplomatic visit, he had been getting weaker and weaker until one day he simply fell into a sleep and never awoke. Teagan had arrived back in Redcliffe the night of the first attack, dead men rose from the ground sparing no one and continuing to attack even with mortal wounds and missing limbs. No one was even sure if anyone in the Castle was still alive, Teagan said he observed no men patrolling the walls and no one inside had responded to his calls.

"Undead," Morrigan had clarified. "They are spirits possessing the dead. There could be several causes for such a thing… none of them are pleasant."

Teagan finished with, "Alistair, I hate to ask this of you and your friends, but please, help us. I fear tonight's attacks will be the worst yet and without your help I do not believe we will survive the night."

He shook his head, "As much as I would like to help, the decision is not entirely mine." Alistair turned in his seat to look at Anouk who had been standing behind him. "What do you think?"

She studied him, pale green eyes once again ruled by the neutrality he'd already come to hate so much. Anouk was so impossible to read unlike Leliana who let every emotion she felt flit across her pretty pale face. Because he could not read her face there was a tense, breathless moment where Alistair was sure she was going to refuse until Anouk swallowed and brought her eyes to Bann Teagan, "We will assist in any capacity we are able."

By the time they left the Chantry it was obvious that news had spread of the new bodies that would be joining them for that night's assaults. They decided to split up to be ready sooner so they had longer to strategize. Dmitri, Leliana and Morrigan headed toward the steep path that lead down into the village going to speak to Ser Perth by the windmill while Sten stayed with Anouk and Alistair to see what could be done about the arms and armor the men desperately needed.

"This is a fool's errand, there are no darkspawn here and nothing to gain," Sten said.

Anouk sighed, "You're right, there are no darkspawn here."

"Then leave the people to defend themselves," he replied, gruffly.

Anouk stopped and with an irritated sigh spun to face the giant. "We need an army to combat the Blight and kill the Archdemon, to that end we need Arl Eamon to unite the nobles of this country to assemble their men because whatever forces the treaties give us is not likely to be enough. If there is a chance that helping the village could lead us to save the Arl, it is a chance we must take."

Sten studied Anouk for a long while, a challenging sort of light in his gaze as they stared one another down waiting for the other to relent. Alistair watched the two battle silently for dominance. Sten had agreed to follow Anouk to combat the Blight to seek his atonement for the murders he committed, but he did not agree not to challenge her. He saw the movement of Anouk's fists as she flexed her long fingers and curled them into her palm slowly. Maker, would this result in more than a silent battle?

But with the clenching of Anouk's fists, Sten seemed to have found something to approve of. Something that could not be rightly called a smile because it lacked none of a smile's warmth quirked the giant's mouth as he gave a quick jerk of his head. "Perhaps," he allowed, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble.

Anouk, however, did not acknowledge Sten's sudden approval and did not surrender her stance. "See what can be done about better fortifying the Chantry's walls," she told him and with another brief nod, Sten turned and walked away. Only then did Anouk allow herself a sigh of relief as she turned her neck before she began walking again.

Alistair cleared his throat, momentarily hesitating before he spoke because he was still unsure whether Anouk would answer. "I admit, I thought you were going to tell Teagan we couldn't help."

Panic roiled through Alistair as Anouk stopped abruptly for a second time. He'd said the wrong thing _again_. But when she turned to face him, the panic receded because there was no anger marring her features, and yet the expression on her face was familiar somehow. "Would you do something for me, Alistair?" she inquired. When he nodded in reply she continued, "I need you to take a long look at me."

He did, starting with her dark hair that lit up in the sun's rays, to the stray curl resting against her temple moving to the thick, defined eyebrows above the sea green of her eyes that hid everything. The sharp angle of her cheekbones down her cheeks and the delicate scar from the injury that had originally tainted her, the distinctive deformity in the bridge of her nose from having been broken and remolded, to the lines of her shapely mouth and the scar that slightly marred her bottom lip. His gaze moved down her neck where he saw her pulse thrumming in the hollow of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, gaze resting for a moment on one of the new scars from a darkspawn's arrow.

_If that had been a few inches lower…_ Alistair didn't finish the thought.

He continued to move his gaze over Anouk, down her arms to her hands, calloused and deft. He tried not to focus too long on the stretch of skin her archer's breastplate revealed, the taut sinew of her stomach. Finally, Alistair's eyes roved over the narrow breadth of her hips, down the length of her legs to her booted feet.

When he met her eyes again, Anouk asked him, "What am I?"

The immediate answer that popped into Alistair's head almost tumbled out of his mouth without his permission. But he clenched his jaw shut determined not to say the wrong thing yet again. Was this a trick question, some way to test him, for her to gauge whether or not to forgive him for his omission? Would she cease to freeze him out if he gave her the answer she was seeking?

Alistair took a breath to hazard at his answer. "… Chasind?" he ventured slowly.

Anouk's eyes slid shut, the corners of her mouth upturning into a sad smile. "_Human,_" she said with distinction, her accent putting more emphasis on the first syllable. "More than I am Chasind, I am _human_, Alistair. We were not in a position to help Lothering, but we are in a position to help these people."

Anouk turned and headed toward the man they'd seen Teagan speaking with when they arrived in the Chantry. And as he watched her walk away, Alistair suddenly remembered where he had seen the expression on her face before. It was the first night Anouk spoke to him at Ostagar, the tired resolve she'd had in her eyes that he did not understand at the time. Now, he understood it and could have smacked himself for not realizing it sooner.

As proud as Anouk was of being a Chasind hunter, all she wanted to be seen as was human. Fereldens metaphorically stripped the wilder folk of their humanity, of their civility simply because they did not wish to view them as anything other than barbarians, nourishing a culture that needed to be brought to a heel under the Chant. Because surely anyone who worshipped a pagan god was not capable of the same depth of emotion as one of the faithful and was therefore less than human. Had he not borne witness to this in Ostagar when the soldiers tripped her, shoved her, and insulted her because they did not think Anouk understood them? Or when the Chantry priests recited the canticles at her, and made the sign of the Maker when she passed or even glanced their way?

And Alistair wasn't sure how, but Anouk had tempered her anger and endured it. Where everyone else was more than willing to demean Anouk because of her beliefs and her culture and her strange appearance, Duncan had been the only one to treat her as another human being. Alistair saw that now. Duncan did not treat Anouk with kindness because she was a recruit, he did it because Anouk was the same as him and deserved no less.

Anouk came back to Alistair after her conversation. "Murdock says the blacksmith is refusing to do the repairs they need, which explains the pathetic state of the men's arms; we're going to have to speak with him." Then her gaze shifted up, over his head and behind him, "I think we should have archers on the buildings, else wise there will be far too many people fighting in such close quarters."

Alistair turned to look at the building. Shrugging a shoulder he replied, "That could work, but you've seen the poor shots these men are, placing them on the building could cause more ha -"

Anouk suddenly rushed past Alistair in a fierce sprint, all speed and agility - she was the fastest runner he'd ever seen. He watched in awe as her long legs hurdled a crate, then kicked off the side of the building at an angle. Her hands found a support beam at the edge of the overhang with enough space to hook her leg around in the opening so she could haul herself onto the roof. Then Anouk was standing triumphant, hands on her hips as she observed the village.

"Do not look at me so," she called to him. "I grew up in the Wilds, I would be a poor wilder if I did not know how to climb."

"Anyway," Alistair drawled. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"A few _skilled_ archers above could make all the difference. Leliana and myself, and perhaps a few others would suffice," Anouk replied with a confident nod.

A warm relief washed through Alistair at her words, comforted in the fact that Anouk would be above and away from the fray. He knew however, that if Anouk thought being in the middle of the fighting would bolster the village's chances, then that's where she would place herself. Alistair had not yet forgotten Anouk's deadly accuracy with her bow, and with her and Leliana fighting from a distance he knew they would not have to worry about being caught off guard because the two women would surely fell the enemy before they were even aware of its presence.

"Anouk, Alistair! You must come quickly!"

They both abruptly turned their attention to Leliana running toward them. Her complexion was completely ashen, the only color visible appearing in red blotches on her chest. Breathing heavily from her run down the hill, the lay sister came to an abrupt halt as Anouk climbed down from the roof.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

"It is Dmitri, you must come!" Leliana exclaimed, then without waiting to see if they would follow turned and began to run back up the steep path.

They followed, of course they followed. Alistair thought Leliana was going to lead them to the mill, but she surprised him when she made a jarring left, toward the even steeper pathway to the tavern. Alistair heard the yelling even before they walked in the door and he was suddenly very afraid of what they were going to find.

"Nothing is getting through to him," Leliana warned and rushed into the tavern.

Dmitri had a dark-haired elf pinned to the wall, the man's large hand easily encircling his throat. An ugly, mottled bruise decorated the elf's cheek as he tried to pry Dmitri's hand from his neck. The barmaid and few tavern goers had retreated as far as they possibly could from the scene unable to do anything but watch in horror. Morrigan stood leaning against the wall uninterested and when Anouk threw the woman a glare all the witch did was shrug.

"What do you know!" Dmitri howled.

"Nothing!" the elf cried. "I'm only doing what they told me!"

Alistair heard the dark growl that rumbled in Dmitri and the elf sputtered as his hand tightened and Alistair's heart skittered across his chest. If they didn't stop Dmitri, it was likely the elf was going to die by his hand. Anouk stepped forward unfazed by Dmitri's rage and said his name gently, risking laying a hand on his shoulder.

"_Dohiyi diganeli_,"Anouk whispered.

Eyes bright and wild, Dmitri turned his gaze on Anouk and snarled at her, "He's working for Howe! The murdering bastard that killed my family!" As proof he held the piece of parchment he had clenched in his fist.

"I-I didn't know he killed your family! Please, I had nothing to do with that!" the elf shrieked.

Anouk turned her attention to the elf held against the wall and when she spoke her tone was even. "Why are you here?"

"I was just told to wait here a-and report i-if anything changed," he replied. "I thought I was s-serving the crown and ma-making a bit of coin, I swear!"

"What kind of change were you supposed to be reporting?" Alistair wondered.

"Anything! I-I only managed to report that the Arl had f-fallen ill before the attacks began, I'm stranded here like e-everyone else!"

A pregnant silence fell over the tavern, no one dared speak for fear that Dmitri's anger would be directed at them next. Alistair could see his friend visibly shaking with rage, surely desiring nothing more than to crush the throat of a man who probably hadn't even _met_ Howe in person.

"I believe you," Anouk said, her voice soft yet managing to shatter the silence. Again, Anouk turned to the tall man beside her and her words were more forceful, but still gentle when she told him, "_Dohiyi diganeli. _Let him go, Dmitri."

With great effort it seemed, Dmitri's hand eased off the elf's throat and he backpedaled several paces. Hands balled into fists, Dmitri's gaze settled on the floorboards beneath his feet. Alistair's accelerated heart rate finally slowed seeing Anouk place herself between the two knowing she was quick enough to remove the elf from Dmitri's path if he renewed his attack.

With a sigh, Anouk picked up a bow from the ground, "I assume this is yours? Are you any good?"

The elf nodded, "I-I am a fair shot."

"Then perhaps you should redeem yourself by helping defend the village tonight."

He nodded again, and Alistair could not help but stare at the bruises beginning to appear on his neck. "I will. Th-thank you for your mercy."

The elf left the tavern hurriedly and Alistair didn't blame him for wanting to put as much distance between himself and Dmitri as possible. He watched Anouk cross the few paces between herself and Dmitri who refused to meet her gaze. Alistair did not hear what she said to him but when she was finished Dmitri nodded solemnly and finally looked up at her as she leaned forward to press her forehead against his.

"Come," Anouk said, turning to face them. "We still have much to do before nightfall."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the lateness, I've been sitting on this chapter<br>for a couple days unsure if I liked it enough to post it.  
>Ah well, I can always come back to edit it later, right? <strong>

**Not a whole lot to say today, I gotta leave for work  
>here in a minute. <strong>

**Translation: **

**_Dohiyi diganeli - _Peace brother  
><strong>

**Thank you to Ugh, Rose Tinted Contact Lenses,  
>olivegbg, and Cibiripilli for leaving wonderful<br>reviews! :)**

**See you later! **

**-(gxr)- **


	13. XIII

**Wilder**

.

.

**XIII**

.

.

At best, Anouk had thought Teagan and Murdock exaggerated the attacks, but the sheer number of walking corpses that flooded the village when nightfall came was overwhelming. But it seemed that the only advantage the undead forces possessed was just that - their forces. The walking corpses did not seem to have any organization, they attacked because whoever or whatever raised them told them to. And with exposed bones and vitals, atrophying muscles and hardly any armor it was not difficult to kill them. But they were relentless!

When daylight finally graced Redcliffe, the last of the undead men fell. A tense silence settled in the air and over the villagers, Anouk could feel her heart beating in her throat waiting for any sign of renewed attack, her bow string taut and ready. She took her cue from the village folk since they had been dealing with the attacks for so long, they would know the signs of renewed attack better than she. So when she saw Murdock sheath his weapon, Anouk shouldered her bow.

Anouk looked down over the village, scanning through the relieved and amazed militiamen as they congratulated one another and cheered. Her eyes burned, her shoulders and arms ached and the muscles of her legs were shaking from being on her feet all night. She needed to rest and when Anouk looked across the way to Leliana whose tired blue eyes met hers with a smile, down to where Alistair plopped himself onto the steps of Chantry, then to Morrigan breaking her usual composure to lean against her staff, Anouk knew they all needed a rest. But she also knew there was not much time to do so, they only had a day to find out _why_ undead men were attacking the village.

The doors to the Chantry opened as Anouk climbed down from her perch and the villagers who had been unable to fight rushed into the square to embrace their loved ones. Anouk's heart simultaneously swelled with joy and clenched in envy at the scene as she made her way to Morrigan, politely brushing off the various thanks of the townsfolk.

"Why do you think this is happening?" Anouk asked the witch lowly.

With a sigh, Morrigan twirled her staff at her side before securing it in its hold over her shoulder. "A demon 'tis most likely the cause. The magic that sustained the undead originated from the castle, the only way to stop the attacks is to seek out the source of the magic and destroy it."

"Then we must find a way into the castle."

"So it would seem."

Anouk nodded her understanding and turned away from Morrigan, closing the distance between her and Alistair before sitting beside him. She could see Sten and Dmitri descending the path into the village while Ser Perth and his men followed behind. Neither Sten nor Dmitri seemed to be injured, she noted with relief. Finally, Anouk turned to Alistair, her eyes met his sharing a relieved and tired smile, then she leaned her head against his armored shoulder, fatigue allowing Anouk to momentarily forget her ire toward him. A Chantry priest eventually came by offering a mug of hot tea and bread, both taken gratefully by Anouk who had been trying to ignore her hunger pains.

"I can hardly believe it," said Teagan's voice behind them. "We survived." He looked down to where Alistair and Anouk were sitting, "Thank you. Truly, _thank you_."

"It's the least we could do," Alistair said with a nod.

"We must find a way into the castle, Morrigan said the magic sustaining the walking corpses originated from there," Anouk told him.

Teagan nodded, "I see. That is… troubling." He sighed and looked around at the village, "With the blow delivered last night, I feel confident enough to leave the village and enter the castle to seek out my brother."

"Uhm, not that I don't want to see the Arl, but… could we… rest, first?" Alistair wondered and Anouk could hear the fatigue weighing down his words.

Teagan chuckled, "Of course."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair sighed.

.

.

"Anouk, time to wake up!"

With difficulty, Anouk managed to peel open her eyes as Leliana continued to shake her shoulder. Light streamed in cheerily through the windows of the Revered Mother's study, its intensity giving away the time of day. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and trying to work the stiffness from her shoulders and back. Once Leliana was satisfied Anouk was going to stay awake, the redhead resumed scribbling on the piece of parchment spread over her knee. She and Leliana were the only ones in the study still, but Anouk's ears picked up the murmur of tense conversation through the crack of the door.

"Where are Alistair and Dmitri?" Anouk wondered.

"With Teagan and Isolde." Leliana replied and before Anouk could ask who Isolde was, the lay sister told her, "She's Eamon's wife."

That caught Anouk's attention. "Eamon's _wife_? Did she come from the castle?"

Anouk pushed herself to her feet before Leliana could answer, striding from the study barefoot, and only in the light padding and leather breeches worn under her armor. When she caught sight of the woman that must have been Eamon's wife Anouk wondered how she could look so impeccably put together when the village had nearly been razed to the ground. And yet, the woman's face was flushed, and there was a panicked flickering in her eyes that set off warning drums in Anouk's head.

"… I know you need more of an explanation," the woman was saying, "but I do not know what is safe to tell! There is a terrible evil in the castle, the dead wake and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues! And my poor Connor, he will not flee the castle and he has seen so much death. Teagan, you must come with me, you could reason with him."

_Oh her voice!_ Anouk thought, gritting her teeth. She was not even aware she had a headache until Isolde was finished speaking. Her voice held the same lilting cadence and quality as Leliana's, but where the lay sister's was endearing, Isolde's was painful. Every syllable the woman spoke in her shrill intonation sent a wave of unpleasant chills down Anouk's spine and it was all she could to not to shudder as she approached.

"We were not aware anyone was even alive within the castle," Anouk said, coming to a stop beside Dmitri. "It is why we have delayed entering."

Isolde rounded on Anouk, looking for all the world like she smelled something unpleasant as her eyes narrowed taking in Anouk's rumpled and exotic appearance. "_Who_ is this woman, Teagan?"

"She is a Grey Warden like Alistair and Dmitri; she helped defend the village last night," Teagan replied.

"I… oh," Isolde stammered. "Forgive me, I would exchange pleasantries, but considering the circumstances…"

"We just need to know what's going on, Lady Isolde," Dmitri said, gently. "You said the mage responsible was caught?"

Isolde nodded and averted her gaze to the floor. "Yes, he… is an infiltrator… I think, in the castle staff and claimed that an agent of Teyrn Loghain hired him to poison Eamon - it is why he fell ill."

The warning drums in Anouk's head intensified as she picked up on the falsehood immediately. No person telling the complete truth would avert their gaze in the manner Isolde did, nor hesitate long enough to invent a fabrication; this woman was hiding something, but what? It explained her fidgety demeanor, the constant shifting of her eyes. What or who was Isolde protecting by lying about the mage?

"You're lying." Anouk stated.

"I beg your pardon!" Isolde cried in outrage, but the panic in her eyes reached a pique only confirming Anouk's suspicions. "That is a rather impertinent accusation!"

"Not if it is true," she answered, darkly. "The dead are _waking_; this is not the work of a mage, but a demon and if we are to have any hope of saving the village, we must have the truth!"

Isolde's defensive stance crumpled abruptly under Anouk's blunt accusation, but the woman turned to Teagan. "Teagan, _please!_ You must come back with me, if this is the work of a demon what if It thinks I am betraying It? It could kill Connor!"

Anouk fisted her hands at her sides, thinking this was why she had little use for the people outside the Wilds. Many of them were liars or worse. Her father would never have put himself in a position that could have risked his people in this manner. The continued welfare of the tribe and village always superseded her father's own desires. Isolde did not appear to follow the same conduct, placing herself above the welfare of those under her care. But that thought made Anouk feel an abrupt warmth toward Teagan, who had bravely assisted the villagers in their dire time of need.

After a hesitation Teagan said, "I will go with you Isolde, but please, give us a moment to speak."

Isolde breathed a sigh, "Thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan. Please do not take long, I will be by the bridge."

"I don't think this is a good idea, Teagan," Alistair said as Isolde left the Chantry.

A rueful smile crossed Teagan's face. "Perhaps not, but this is my family. I will go with Isolde, and hopefully I can… distract whatever is in the castle long enough for you to enter unnoticed."

He slid a ring off his finger, handing it to Dmitri and explaining that it opened an underground passage to the castle by way of the mill. He fervently insisted that Eamon was their main priority, that everyone inside the castle, including himself, was expendable. Then with no further ado, Teagan squared his shoulders and bravely brushed past them.

Dmitri turned to Anouk, his voice rimmed in awe as he asked, "How'd you know Isolde was lying?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, her own voice threaded with confusion as she replied, "How did you not?"

.

.

"You can't just _set a blood mage free_!" Alistair cried.

Anouk rubbed her temples hoping that increasing the pressure as she circled would make her head stop pounding. She was grateful that Sten and Leliana did not mind being left in the village so more voices were not added to the arguing going on at her back. Of all the things that could have happened, or that they could have learned upon entering the castle, Jowan's story was the last thing Anouk expected. Connor, the Arl's son, was a mage and Isolde, terrified the boy would be taken to the Tower had hired Jowan, an apostate and apparently a blood mage to teach the boy behind the Arl's back. But what no one knew until it was too late, was that Jowan had been hired by Teyrn Loghain to poison Arl Eamon.

"Oh? Better to execute him, better to punish him for his choices?" Morrigan snapped, her voice seething raw contempt, "Is this Alistair who speaks, or the _templar_?"

She stared through the bars of the cell at the man who Teyrn Loghain hired to poison Arl Eamon, turning over possibilities. He could not have been older than Dmitri and yet he looked as though he had seen some terrible things that had aged him considerably. Jowan stared only at Anouk as her companions argued, his eyes wide allowing the torches to illuminate the terror flickering in his gaze. He said he had been tortured by Isolde's guards as she demanded that he undo what he had done, and Jowan's appearance did not belay that. Someone had attempted to rearrange his face if the cuts, mottled bruises and ugly swelling were any indication and his clothing had seen better days, torn and heavily stained.

"I'd say it's common sense!" Alistair retorted, his voice echoing against the stone. "We don't even know the whole story yet!"

What annoyed Anouk the most was that Jowan was telling the truth. Yes, Jowan had poisoned Arl Eamon leading to his sickness and he would be held accountable for it, but he did not summon the demon. If Jowan's story was anything to go by, Anouk laid the blame solely on Isolde's arrogance and fear and she was just as accountable for the walking corpses as the demon who raised them.

"He does seem earnest in his desire to atone," Dmitri added reasonably. "He may be a blood mage, but… we could use all the help we can get right now."

"Please, I never meant for any of this to happen," Jowan said, adding his voice to the arguing. "Let me help."

Anouk sighed impatiently, "Have you not done enough?"

"Just give me a chance," he beseeched.

"And afterwards?"

Jowan shrugged with hopeless resign, his expression crestfallen. "I suppose I'll be arrested or… executed, or whatever people like me get."

"And you have made peace with that, resigned yourself to that fate?" Anouk asked.

"I… I'm tired of running," he admitted. "I need to account for what I've done."

Anouk considered his answer before she took a step forward. If Anouk had offered Sten the chance to atone for the murders he committed, then who was she to deny this young man the chance as well? "I am going to release you, and _you_ are going to come with us."

As they made their way through the castle, Anouk was quite sure that there had, at one point in time, been a rather large staff of servants and guards considering the number of walking dead they encountered along the way. It did nothing to endear Isolde to Anouk, who had allowed those who served her to die rather than send her son away for the proper training in his abilities. In fact, the more people who fell before her, the angrier Anouk became, thrilling through her veins and propelling her forward even as they reached the courtyard allowing Ser Perth and his men to enter.

Teagan was putting on quite the show when they entered the main hall of the castle, dancing without a care in the world and moving with an agility that Anouk would not have thought him capable of. "The demon has him ensorcelled," Morrigan warned quietly.

Isolde, austere and slumped, stood beside the boy Anouk assumed to be Connor. He could not have been older than twelve summers, but when he looked up, there was no child-like innocence in his eyes as his lips pulled into an ugly sneer. Anouk felt her mouth go dry seeing the shadows that swirled in the expanse of the boy's gaze, something _other_ using his eyes to see, unsettled to her soul when the darkness within him stared _back_ at her.

"Ah, so these are our visitors!" Connor said, and there was nothing human in his voice, nothing at all. The metallic quality of his inflection rang several octaves lower than what it should be and sent the hair on Anouk's arms raising to their ends. A sudden aching fear crept along her spine, a clenched pity roiled her stomach - even she knew there was only one way to deal with a possession.

"This will not end well," she heard Morrigan utter. "The boy has become an abomination and sundered the Veil."

She was aware of Dmitri speaking to Connor, the bulk of him standing beside her and it should have been comforting, knowing he was there. But it wasn't. Not only could she feel the energy of the same anger that propelled her forward through the castle radiating from Dmitri, a numbness had spread through Anouk as well, preparing her for the inevitable task that was going to be laid at their feet. Anouk would not enjoy killing the child… she shook her head, Connor was no longer a child and thinking of him as such would only make things harder for everyone. No, better to approach this with methodic detachment.

And then everything was chaos. Connor ran from the room and the dozen guards as well as Teagan, ensorcelled by the demon within Connor, drew their weapons and advanced on them. She heard Alistair shout not to kill anyone and Anouk clenched her teeth, having to quickly readjust the hold on her axe to hit the oncoming guard with the handle enclosed in her fist. A shield slammed into the side of Anouk's head and she dropped like a rock, vision spinning, ears ringing, quite sure that her eyes had been knocked clear from her head.

She was still trying to see straight as Alistair helped her to her feet, keeping a hold of her elbows to steady her. "I am fine," she tried to assure him.

"You are not," he insisted, though gently. "I thought you said most people don't find it so easy to sneak up on you?"

Her vision finally stopped doubling as Alistair's handsome face came fully into focus. His lip was split, but he was smiling gently at her, the echo of his playful jibe lighting his hazel eyes. "Last I checked, there were no eyes in the back of my head," she replied, taking back her arms.

"Teagan! Oh, Teagan, are you alright? I am so sorry for bringing you here, if anything had happened to you, I would have never forgiven myself!"

Anouk did her best to hide her scowl as Isolde helped Teagan to his feet. The guards were rising as well, slowly and bewildered looking as if they were coming into the world for the first time. How long had the demon had them under its control? Anouk briefly wondered what their last memories were before their actions were no longer their own.

Teagan, to his credit, gave Isolde such a look of disgust, one eyebrow arched up in annoyance as she fussed over him. "You're _sorry_? What about the people your actions have hurt, Isolde?"

Isolde stumbled back as she paled, mouth gaping, trying and failing to find words. Her eyes looked around wildly seeking anyone else to lay blame upon and when her gaze found Jowan, Isolde's mouth snapped shut, an all-consuming rage bringing color back into her features. "This is _his_ fault, he summoned the demon!"

"I didn't!" Jowan protested, truly affronted. "I told you already! I did not summon any demon!"

"No," Dmitri interjected, dark eyes solidly on Isolde and smoldering with barely controlled rage. "This is _your_ fault, Lady Isolde."

Isolde looked to Dmitri, aghast. "He betrayed me, I brought him here to help Connor and in return he poisoned my husband!"

"Your secrecy made his actions possible," Tegan answered.

"Enough!" Anouk barked, tired of arguing. If everyone was truly insistent on giving blame to someone, then they would likely be there all day. "Fault can be assigned at another time. Where is the boy?"

"Most likely in the family's quarters," Teagan replied.

"He does not like violence, it frightens him," Isolde added. "... The fight may have brought Connor back out again."

_Could that mean -_ "He may be vulnerable?" Teagan asked, giving voice to Anouk's thought.

Anouk swallowed her disgust with herself and the injustice of the situation. Connor hadn't truly done anything except try to help his father and yet it was very likely they were going to have to kill him. Without the proper training, the boy did not know enough about demons and their tricks to resist. After all, what would anyone give to ensure the safety of those they loved and cared about?

Isoldes abrupt wail of misery sent a sharp pain through Anouk's already aching head. "_Please!_ Is there no other way?"

Jowan stepped forward hesitantly, "There… could be another way."

He explained about the ritual in concise terms that everyone would understand. While killing Connor was the easiest solution, Anouk had to admit that the ritual did have an appeal because she did not _want_ to kill Connor; did not want a child's blood on her hands. And then because they lacked a stock pile of lyrium and several more mages Jowan revealed what the ritual would entail - blood magic and a sacrifice.

"Blood magic!" Alistair spat, his inner templar roaring to life. "How can more evil be a solution! The Circle of Magi isn't too far from here, we can go there and ask for their help."

"That's assuming they would even do it," Dmitri replied. "I doubt they would want to go through all that trouble when simply killing the boy is the quickest, cleanest and easiest answer."

Anouk turned to Dmitri, "And if Connor was your son? Your brother… your _nephew_?"

It was a heavy handed tactic, Anouk knew, but now that they were presented with the possibility of eradicating the demon from Connor while leaving him intact, she was going to dig in with both heels and take it. Dmitri deliberately crossed his arms, gritted his teeth as he tried to bring his sudden grief to a heel. When he looked away from her, Anouk knew that killing the boy was now out of the question.

Anouk weighed her options: travel to the Circle of Magi and ask them to do the ritual, or allow Jowan to use blood magic to do the ritual and use Isolde, who happily offered herself, as the sacrifice needed. Going to the Circle did have a certain appeal because no one would have to die, but who knew how long that would take. Anouk did not want to risk leaving the boy with the demon inside him only for him to unleash more horrors on the village while they were gone, espeically when there was a very real possibility the Circle would refuse to do the ritual and kill the boy anyway. Those poor people, fighting for their lives every night due to the Arlessa's well-intentioned -albeit misguided- attempt to protect her son, barely scraping by while Isolde stayed safe in the castle.

She turned to Morrigan, the only other mage in the room and conceivably the one who would be going into the Fade. Her golden eyes met Anouk's with curiosity. "_Wili nehi advneha hiano?_"

She did not miss the surprise that flashed through the witch's gaze as Morrigan crossed her arms and sat on her hip, regarding Anouk lingeringly. Finally, Morrigan sighed passively, "_Asehi_."

Anouk nodded, turning back to Isolde. "Are you quite sure you're ready to die, Lady Isolde?"

* * *

><p><strong>Is anyone going to yell at me for allowing the ritual? I hope not. <strong>

**Most of the DA fics that I have found that retell the Blight, the author's  
>all opt to go to the Circle to help Connor. Considering that most of<br>us already know the condition of the tower when the party arrives  
>(if you haven't gone there before Redcliffe)<strong>**it's just not logical to leave  
>Connor possessed under the supervision of <em>one<em> mage. And Isolde  
>totally deserves it. <strong>**Though I do understand wanting your Warden to  
>be "good", but morally flexible is more fun. <strong>

**Translations:**

**Wili nehi advneha hiano? - Will you do this? **

**Ashei - yes**

**Annnyyywayyy... Thank you to... Ellyanah, Cibiripilli, and JTheClivaz  
>for reviewing last chapter! :) <strong>

**See you next chapter! **

**-(gxr)- **


	14. XIV

**Wilder**

.

.

**XIV**

.

.

Alistair only ever witnessed one Harrowing during his time as an initiate in the Templar order.

The boat ride to the Tower was bad enough and even though it hadn't been overly long, at the time the swaying and rocking of the boat had been enough to slump Alistair over the side of the small vessel. He remembered how it felt in the Tower, the press and caress of magic against his skin that was both exhilarating and unsettling, the lightning and ice taste of it on his tongue. He remembered the vast, labyrinthine library because he had never seen that many books in his life. He watched apprentices pour over tomes as thick as his forefinger was tall and he remembered the smell of ink and parchment left behind in his nose. Many of the mages didn't spare Alistair and the two other Templar initiates a passing glance, but the glares some of them sent their way were filled with such a scathing hatred that he felt his cheeks burn crimson with shame.

The Harrowing Chamber was the last stop for the visiting initiates. His breath was shaky, and he felt utterly ridiculous clanking around in the armor and knowing he would be sore in the morning because his body was still undisciplined to the weight of it. But he was in awe of the Chamber itself, of the elaborate stained glass windows that arched high and encircled them, depicting the fall of the Imperium and the kaleidoscope patterns they cast in every direction. The taupe marble floor polished to perfection, bearing the Canticle of Threnodies in black marble circling the edges of the room.

Two other Templars were in the Chamber, their faces obscured by the face plates of their helmets, and Alistair was terrified of them even though he wasn't a mage - these silent, metal encased warriors, more hardened than Alistair believed he could ever be. They were nothing like the Templars he had met so far, who were all warm and pleasant conversation.

On either side of him stood the other initiates, standing proud, though trying not to strain under the weight of their armor or shift due to the unusual weight of swords on their hips. But Alistair was nothing like them. The two young men on either side of him were proud to be Templar initiates, ready to carry out their sacred duties and serve Andraste and the Maker. Alistair was only there because he had hopelessly resigned himself to his fate as a Templar, he couldn't fight it and didn't try.

Knight-Commander Gregoir explained that the initiates would be witnessing a Harrowing that day and that it should go fairly smoothly because the apprentice being Harrowed was quite skilled and possessed admirable restraint. One of the initiates standing beside Alistair ventured to wonder what would happen if it didn't go smoothly and in a stiff, detached voice Gregoir replied that if the apprentice failed the Harrowing, Templars were bound by their oath to slay the apprentice.

And yet, even with the Knight-Commander's assurances, the tension was palpable. No one dared speak or even breathe too loudly for fear of shattering the delicate silence and Alistair gritted his teeth together until his jaw hurt. He was filled with a near overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here, every one of his instincts telling him to _run_. But he stamped the insistent voice down, ignoring the weight his apprehension left in his chest.

First Enchanter Irving, who back then was clean-shaven and only mostly grey, crested the top of the stairs nodding in acknowledgment to the Knight-Commander. Then the mage wearing traditional blue apprentice robes trailed in behind him. She was a pretty thing with perfect alabaster skin that had likely never seen the harsh light of day, her narrow face framed by ringlets of spun gold. But it was her eyes that caught Alistair's attention the most - almost seeming to large for her face and the brightest shade of green he'd ever seen.

Those eyes were _terrified_.

And somehow in that moment when her eyes flickered in his direction, something in Alistair knew that she wasn't _really_ ready for her Harrowing yet, and that it was not going to go as smoothly as Gregoir had promised.

Gregoir stepped forward and made a speech that Alistair was sure he'd given dozens of times before in his tenure as Knight-Commander. Then the girl approached the lyrium font, her movements stiff, her hands trembling. Irving caught her as her body went limp and her spirit entered the Fade.

After that, everything seemed to happen so quickly. The girl's body began writhing, contorting into positions it shouldn't have conceivably been able to. And then she was screaming, the sound no where near human, somehow making Alistair feel sick to his very soul, still able to hear it when he clapped his hands to his ears. When she finally stopped screaming the girl stood, opened her eyes, and Alistair's heart suddenly felt like a block of ice and his stomach crashed through the floors of the Tower into Lake Calenhad's waters. Her eyes were black, soul-less, no longer afraid but haughty and arrogant.

Her eyes immediately darted to one of the helmeted Templars as he advanced on her; she mumbled something under her breath, flicked her wrist in his direction and the Templar dropped to his knees, clawing at the neck of his armor, screaming. Somehow his fingers found the edges of his helmet and managed to pull it up and over his head. Blood raced down his face in macabre tears, dripped out of the corners of his mouth and nose to line his chin and neck. Alistair made no attempt to repress the shudder that racked his body when her mouth split into a chilling smile of utmost _delight_ as she watched the Templar suffer.

Now the girl's previous terror became his own. Alistair wanted to shout but his throat was too dry, his heart beat so wildly behind the caging of his ribs he was sure at any moment it would burst through his chest and armor. Blood rushed and pulsed through his veins and it was difficult to breathe - or maybe he couldn't remember how to breathe. The two initiates on either side of him scrambled backwards in shock, but Alistair was positive that if he even tried to lift a foot to retreat, his legs would simply cease to bear his weight.

Then Alistair felt the manifestation of willpower as the Templars reached out through the ether for her magic. He felt when they found it, began pulling on the tendrils of the girl's magic, ripping it away as they deprived her, or rather, the thing inside her of her essence. The temperature seemed to drop with the sudden loss of magic in the atmosphere, and before Alistair could blink again a Sword of Mercy cleaved through the girl's chest from behind and blood began to bloom through the fabric of her robes.

When Alistair hit his knees and vomited, he knew he could never be stationed as a Templar in the Circle.

.

.

Years after that failed Harrowing, Alistair stood in the main hall of Redcliffe Castle watching Jowan etch the runes he required for the ritual onto the floor, the same emotions he felt that day all clamoring for control. He wanted to yell, to shake Anouk and demand that she rethink this decision because she had no idea what forces she was toying with by allowing the ritual to be cast with blood magic. Another part of him wanted to walk away, to simply brush his hands clean of the entire situation and refuse to be part of it. But he knew the latter desire was not an option, Alistair was the only Templar for miles since the token force Redcliffe's Chantry possessed were all in the field searching for Andraste's Ashes, and even though he hadn't taken his vows Alistair was better than no Templar at all should things go awry.

Still, nothing stopped the anxiety that twisted through his nerves and made his hands shake. Alistair didn't understand how Anouk could come to the conclusion that this was best solution to Redcliffe's problems. He didn't know how the Chasind looked upon blood magic, but surely it was not condoned. Without much thought, Alistair's imagination began to run rampant imagining Chasind women dancing under the harvest moon while their shaman made a sacrifice to their pagan god in return for protection from the Witch of the Wilds.

Jowan's announcement that everything was ready made Alistair shake the image from his mind. Alistair blinked, refocusing and walked over to the three clustered circles drawn onto the floor. He crouched down inspecting the runes and lines, ensuring that nothing was smudged and there were no gaps. While Morrigan would be the one going into the Fade, all it would take is a simple, unintentional mistake on Jowan's part in the design of the circles for them to be dealing with three abominations instead of just one.

He looked up to Morrigan across the way, also crouched down to inspect the etchings. When she looked up and gave a single nod, Alistair announced, "Everything looks okay."

"I'll… get Isolde, then," Teagan said before turning and leaving the room.

Silence enveloped them, deafening in the loss of voices to echo against the stone walls. The look on everyone's face, even Jowan's, as Alistair looked them over said the same thing - _are we really going to allow this_? Tongue thick in his mouth, Alistair swallowed and brought his eyes to Anouk, her mouth set in determination. Aware of his gaze, her eyes flickered to his and his chest felt tight, achingly aware of every beat of his heart because what he could not fathom was the remorse Alistair had not heard in Anouk's voice when she made the decision to allow the ritual, now clouding her eyes.

Maybe he could still change her mind? "Anouk, there's still time to -"

"_Tla_."

"But -"

"_Alistair!_" Anouk hissed through her clenched teeth. Her hands were tightly fisted at her sides to keep from trembling, but Alistair saw it still and moreover, he recognized it. Anouk was not trembling from fear, or from anger, Alistair saw her shake the way she was now the night of the Joining - when she had wanted to flee but forced herself to stay. "_Please_."

Whatever Alistair was going to say next was lost when Teagan and Isolde re-entered the room. Red-eyed and undoubtedly terrified, Isolde approached Alistair with a small, folded up piece of parchment. Seeming to swallow her pride, the Arlessa met the eyes of the young man she had treated so miserably all those years ago.

"Please," she said weakly, handing him the parchment in her hands, "see that my husband gets this letter and tell him that I am _so_ sorry… I was only trying to protect our son."

However genuine Isolde may have been, Alistair still found it difficult to feel sympathy for her, but bit back every harsh thing he'd ever wanted to say to her. Instead, he chose the more noble path and nodded, accepting Isolde's letter to Eamon.

"May I suggest that we proceed?" Morrigan interrupted. "The longer we delay, the more difficult it will be to separate the demon from the boy."

Isolde nodded. "Yes," she breathed, "yes, let us… proceed."

"My Lady, if you'll step into the circle," Jowan instructed, motioning to one of the three circles.

Isolde complied, stepping into the circle Jowan pointed to as Morrigan stepped into hers. Once inside her circle, Isolde immediately dropped to one knee, clasped her hands together and began rocking herself gently to and from in silent prayer. Only then did Alistair feel a stab of pity, not for Isolde, but for Connor. The Arlessa was known to be a pious woman, and magic was considered a sin against the Maker; Alistair wondered how Isolde had treated Connor in the time between when he started showing signs of magic and when Isolde hired Jowan.

"It, uh, might be a good idea to leave the room," Jowan said, "This… isn't going to be pretty."

Anouk shook her head fervidly. "No. I will see the consequences of this; whether Dmitri stays is his decision," she turned to Teagan, "but I would ask that you leave, Teagan."

Dmitri looked up, startled, obviously assuming Anouk would make them all leave the room. He gave her the smallest smile and nodded, "I will stay."

Teagan appeared conflicted though, mouth twisted into a contemplative scowl. Alistair cleared his throat, "I think the first face Connor should see is yours, Teagan."

"I… yes, perhaps you're right," Teagan said. When Teagan left, Alistair tried not to show how relieved he felt not to have him witness the ritual.

They gave the go-ahead to Ser Perth and his men stationed outside the three entrances that led into the main hall and all three doors slammed shut, while the echo of the locks sliding home assured everyone there was no turning back now.

Dmitri stood beside Alistair and crossed his arms. "You received enough training to know if this fails, right?"

Alistair tried his best to summon his most confident countenance, but he was sure it fell a little short. Nodding, he replied, "Yes."

"Good," his friend sighed. Then he looked up and across the room to where Anouk stood against the wall, still and stone-faced. "I don't envy her for having to make this decision."

"No," Alistair agreed, "but there were other options, no one needed to die."

Dmitri made no reply, simply shrugged and the two men watched Jowan make the final preparations for the ritual, cutting open his, Morrigan's and Isolde's wrists before stepping back into his designated circle. Jowan began speaking lowly, chanting almost, in what Alistair recognized as Arcanum, the words rhythmic and lyrical as the circles lit with magic. He felt the words as Jowan expelled them into the ether, caressing his senses just as the magic hummed through the atmosphere.

Alistair kept his eyes solely on Anouk's face needing to see her reactions as she witnessed the outcome of the decision she had made. Jowan's tone intensified, became louder, the rhythm of his words became harder and Alistair's mouth was filled with a sharp, metallic taste. The magic pulsed and hummed through the room in time with Jowan's words while Alistair fought every instinct he'd been taught in the Chantry, holding off on the buildup of his willpower.

Anouk's face went whiter than a sheet and her mouth dropped open when the spell began draining Isolde's lifeblood and the Arlessa's body raised a few feet from the ground, blood dripping from her wrists only to disappear in mid-fall. The lighted circle around Morrigan began to change color, glowing red as it danced and swirled around her. Then Jowan threw his bleeding wrists in the center where the three circles connected. Alistair felt the uncomfortable vacuum as the magic all rushed toward Morrigan. Every candle in the room blew out, but there was a soft thud as Morrigan's body hit the ground.

Now there was only to wait.

.

.

Anouk crossed her arms over her chest tightly in a futile attempt to stop shaking as she stood in Arl Eamon's office waiting for Teagan. The ritual had worked, Morrigan killed the demon and Connor woke up with no memory of what had happened. Though Arl Eamon still laid comatose, the village was saved. So why then was Anouk filled with such disquiet?

She crossed to the window, looking out over the village, to the distant smoke plumes rising from the funeral pyres in the lake. Her chest felt heavy and it was a little difficult to breathe as she thought back on the ritual. Anouk had been aware Alistair was watching her the entire time and as much as she tried to remain placid, Anouk had not been prepared to see Isolde bleed away. She had not been ready to _feel_ the press of magic against her skin as the spell filled the room and became a physical thing.

Restless, Anouk turned from the window, moving to the Arl's desk running her fingers over the cluttered surface. Everything looked frozen in time, as though the man was going to walk in any minute and sit himself down, ready to tackle that day's matters. Her prying was harmless considering the fact that Anouk couldn't read, born from a need to do _something_ as she flittered through the papers. Eventually, Anouk's wandering hand picked up the only item sitting on the desk top that seemed out of place among the official looking documents and personal letters. An amulet, not unlike the one Leliana wore around her neck, but smaller, older.

_I remember I had an amulet of my mother's with Andraste's holy symbol on it_…

Anouk furrowed her brow, remembering Alistair tell them about his mother's amulet as they walked to Redcliffe. But hadn't he said he'd broken it? She walked back to the window for better lighting, holding the amulet close to her face. In the sunlight, Anouk could see the cracks that decorated the face of the amulet and in some places, whatever adhesive had been used to repair it had bubbled up through the cracks.

Anouk hadn't intended to pocket the amulet, but she heard Dmitri's footsteps approaching the study, the distinct scuffing of his left foot and the heaviness of his steps; and the quickest place for her to hide the amulet, and thus the evidence of her snooping was in her pocket. She looked up as her fellow Warden rounded into the study and for a moment he merely leaned against the doorframe, examining her. His dark eyes shone with a remorseful kind of affection as he looked at her, but Anouk was grateful that Dmitri could still look at her at all because both Alistair and Leliana were avoiding her eye.

"I want to tell you 'I'm sorry', but I admit I am at a loss," he said. "Your people do not apologize outright, correct? They ask for the forgiveness of those they've wronged?"

"You have done nothing that needs forgiven, _diganeli_," Anouk replied with a shake of her head.

Dmitri pushed himself off the wall, crossed the room until he was standing across the desk from her. "I have," he insisted, leveling her with the intensity of his gaze, "both Alistair and I have. We put you in the position to lead us when either of us would have been better equipped to do it, and in doing so we've inadvertently forced your hand. Of all of us, the most logical course of action would have been for me to take the lead when Alistair deferred, but instead I shirked my duty and gave it to you... Can you forgive me for putting you in this position?"

That Dmitri cared enough to adhere to her customs regarding this, made Anouk close her eyes against the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to crash over her. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat. Asking for another's forgiveness required a depth of humility Anouk had rarely witnessed in grasslanders and outsiders, and among her people that humility was considered honorable. This seemly small action taken by Dmitri revealed to Anouk just how highly he regarded her.

When Anouk was sure she had her emotions under control, she opened her eyes and gave Dmitri a watery smile. "Yes, Dmitri. I can forgive you."

He nodded, offering her a bow similar to the ones she'd seen given to Cailan in Ostagar, with his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm glad." Standing to his full height once again, he said, "The funeral services are nearly finished. I imagine Teagan, Alistair, Leliana and Connor will return shortly."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, "Tell me I did the right thing, Dmitri."

Sympathy overcame Dmitri's features as he gave her a sad smile. "I don't think there was a 'right thing' this time, love. And I don't think it's going to get any easier."

* * *

><p><strong>I think this is my favorite chapter so far. <strong>

**It's 3:20 AM right now. Ugh. **

**I do have to say that my boyfriend is currently playing  
>DA for the first time and it is STRESSING ME OUT<br>to watch him play it when I've beaten it several  
>times.<strong>** Haha. It's ridiculous! And I want nothing more  
>than to help him but he gets so cranky when I try, lol.<br>Oh well. **

**I'll probably not update again until after the 25th... maybe.  
>Feel free to consider this an early Christmas present :) <strong>

**Uhm.. my birthday is on Friday! :D **

**Anyway. Thank you to... olivegbg, Cibiripilli, and  
>ShimmeringDjinn for reviewing the last chapter.<br>It really means a lot! **

**On that note - I hope everyone has a wonderful  
>holiday! Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza, Merry<br>Christmas and Happy Holidays! **

**-(gxr)- **


	15. XV

**Wilder**

.

.

**XV**

.

.

Connor and Leliana were sent back to the castle before Teagan and Alistair, and when they did not return to the castle in as timely a manner as Anouk would have liked, the restlessness that had settled in her muscles forced her to wander. She walked the castle halls, absently running her finger along the edge of Alistair's pendant in her pocket as she thought of the flash of awed fury that darkened his eyes only hours ago. Survivors wishing to show their gratitude to Teagan for helping the village volunteered themselves for the clean-up effort of the castle, Valena, the smith's daughter still among them - she had been found hiding behind some barrels of grain in a storage room. The knights worked alongside the volunteers, cleaning and scrubbing every surface ridding themselves of the gory reminders Connor's possession had left behind.

Eventually, Anouk found herself climbing the stairs to the second floor and rounding into the family's quarters of the castle. And then before she realized what she was doing, Anouk was standing in front of the open doorway that led into Connor's room. The boy was within, fingering a small wooden figurine that vaguely looked like a horse, unaware of his observer. She watched him for a time, staying just out of view and asking herself what she had hoped to accomplish by doing so.

Connor was… odd, there was no other way to describe it. Whether it was a result of his possession or whether he had always been an odd child, Anouk did not know, but there was an overt stillness in his nature that she was unaccustomed to seeing in children. The children in her village were always moving, playing, shouting; they were rambunctious and cheerful, distracted. Connor seemed to be none of those things. There was a melancholy about him that Anouk could understand, having lost her own mother at a young age, it was in the languid way Connor moved, his over expressive eyes staring off in the distance, miles away, as though he was seeing something everyone else did not.

A body stepped up beside Anouk. "You should talk to him."

Anouk shook her head without turning to Ser Perth, who apparently had been asked by Teagan to keep an eye on the boy. "I have no patience for children."

"It might do him some good," Ser Perth reasoned. "No one's told him anything that happened - why the village is in the state it is, not even how his mother died. There's a block of time that's simply missing from his life and no one will explain it."

"How can I speak to him when I am the reason his mother is dead?" Anouk asked wearily.

"Isolde chose her death and if it saved Connor, then she went to it happily," Ser Perth replied. "At least now he will receive the help he needs."

But Ser Perth's assurances did not to abate the disquiet that roared through Anouk's mind, nor the weight of the remorse sitting in her chest. A decision she made had deprived a child of his mother and he would never be the same because of it. Had she done the right thing, made the right choice? Or should she have killed the child, rather than leave him in this mentally weakened state as a target for another demon?

The door at the end of the hall clicked shut as Morrigan left the Arl's chambers. The witch paused as Anouk turned toward her and asked, "How fares the Arl?"

Morrigan sighed and rubbed her hands together. "I am no Healer, 'tis not much I am able to do regarding his condition. If no cure is soon found, he will die; his muscles are already beginning to show signs of atrophy."

"And there is no antidote you know of?"

Morrigan shook her head, "No. What has been done to the Arl has been done by a poisonous compound I do not recognize. If I knew the components used, t'would be a simple matter for me to create an antidote, but that simpleton does not know what was used either."

Anouk nodded her understanding. "It was worth the effort. And Morrigan, I would like you to know: I appreciate what you did, however unwillingly you did it."

Morrigan smirked, spreading out her arms as she bobbed into a bow. "I am your willing slave," she replied. Standing she added, "Not that I lack appreciation for the intent of the comment. Though I admit, I am surprised you chose to save the boy rather than kill him; had the decision been left to Alistair or Dmitri 'tis likely his corpse would be burning with the others' one way or another."

"Shall we leave the decision to them when a demon possess you then?" Anouk wondered.

"Ah," Morrigan said, "you make the mistake in thinking I will allow a demon to possess me."

Morrigan breezed passed Anouk, brushing shoulders as she slipped by. Anouk watched her go, until she heard a small, uncertain voice ask, "Are you the one who saved me?"

Anouk turned sharply to look at the boy who barely reached her shoulders and did not answer for a long time. In looking Connor over, Anouk somehow hoped to find a reprieve from the guilt gnawing away at her nerves, but she knew it was a fruitless attempt. Whether Connor realized it or not, he was forever changed from his coexistence with the demon and even Anouk knew it; no one comes away from a brush with darkness completely unscathed. She tried to find the childish glee she was so accustomed to seeing in children his age, but all she saw the shadow that still clung to him, the uncommon knowledge about the horrors of the world he know unconsciously owned.

Finally, Anouk shook her head. "I am not. Morrigan saved you."

"Oh," Connor replied, hanging his head slightly. "I suppose I should thank her… Mother always taught me to thank someone when they've helped you…" Anouk swallowed the lump in her throat as Connor took a shuddering breath. "I wish Mother were here, I miss her and no one will tell me how she died - they all tell me that I'll find out when I'm older."

Then he looked back up at her with eyes that knew and saw too much. "But you understand that."

Startled, Anouk gasped, "What?"

"You lost your mother, too," he said plainly, blinking his wide eyes at her.

Anouk's knee hit the stone ground hard as she dropped to his level, grabbing him roughly by his shoulders. "How do you know this?"

No emotion or acknowledgment flickered through Connor's expression as he shrugged. "I just… know."

Connor eased himself from her grip before turning and walking back into his room. Anouk knelt there unable to make her body comply with her mind's demand to stand, her breathing unsteady while her heart beat as hard as her tribe's warning drums.

.

.

Anouk was alerted to Teagan and Alistair's return to the castle well past nightfall by Dmitri who also informed her that a light meal was being prepared and to join them in the dining hall at her convenience. At the mention of food, Anouk's stomach cramped painfully in what almost seemed like a punishment for having stubbornly ignored its demand for sustenance for the majority of the day and pushing through the occasional dizzy spell. Because the way Anouk saw it, there was work that had to be done, food could wait.

When Dmitri and Anouk reached the dining hall, he motioned for her to sit down beside him, across the table from Alistair. She nodded to Teagan as she adjusted her chair, noting that Morrigan and Sten had chosen not to join them, and Anouk didn't blame them because she wouldn't be there if she didn't have to be. The meal was simple: a vegetable stew, fresh bread and red wine. Not that Anouk took any notice of taste as she wolfed down the meal, making a contented noise at the back of her throat as the food settled in her stomach and the wine left a dry patch on her tongue.

When her bowl was empty, Anouk looked up and out of the corner of her eye saw Dmitri drain the last remnants of broth from his own bowl, having forgone the utensils provided as she had. Dmitri at least had the decency to wipe the liquid from dribbling down his chin with his napkin while she simply used the back of her hand.

That's when the stunned look on Alistair's face broke and he began to laugh. Loud, unapologetic, shoulder shaking laughter. It was one extreme of emotion that Anouk had yet to witness from him, she'd seen him yell in Dmitri's face, nearly succumb to tears, frozen in fear and shock, but she had yet to see him laugh. Anouk liked the sound of Alistair's laugh, warm enough to melt the ball of ice cold guilt sitting in the basket of her ribcage. She liked the liveliness it brought to his face, the tint of pink on his cheeks, and the tears of mirth he wiped from the corners of his eyes. _This _version of Alistair Anouk quite liked in comparison to the stoicism he'd previously displayed.

"I'm sorry," he finally breathed, sighing and laying a hand against his stomach which was now likely hurting from laughing so hard.

"What was so funny?" Dmitri asked.

"In addition to quelling Blights, Grey Wardens are also known for their enduring stamina and monstrous appetites," Alistair replied, eyes twinkling with humor. "But don't worry, everyone used to laugh at me too."

Teagan cleared his throat, bringing the smile sliding from Alistair's face as he turned his attention to the bann. "We need to discuss what course of action to take next," he began. "Whatever the demon within Connor did to my brother it has seemed to, thankfully, spared his life, but he still will not wake."

"Morrigan says that what has been done to him has been done by a poisonous compound she does not recognize," Anouk supplied. "She also says that if no cure is found in a timely manner that he will die regardless."

"The quest Redcliffe's knights are on could be his only hope," Leliana offered.

Dmitri scoffed and rolled his eyes. "This _again_? The Urn of Sacred Ashes is a myth, a legend! How many centuries have passed since Andraste died and her ashes carried from Tevinter to Ferelden? If the Maker wanted her ashes to be found, they would have been found by now."

Teagan held up a hand bringing an end to the potential argument. "Leliana is right. I am not simply grasping at straws here. Documents in Eamon's study provided me with the name and address of the Denerim scholar whose research he was funding. The man's name is Brother Genitivi, and he has been trying to decipher the inscriptions on Andraste's birth rock. When my brother fell ill Isolde sent some knights to find him; they were unable to and in desperation she sent more in search of him or some other clue as to the Urn's location."

Anouk took another sip of her wine muscling the bittersweet taste down her throat, it was so different from the honey mead her tribe made but still left the same comforting weight in her stomach and warmth in her cheeks. She wasn't sure she liked the taste of it yet, but had no objections to the disassociation she was beginning to feel, to the drowsiness settling in her limbs. The past two days events were beginning to feel very distant.

"Have you forgotten that we have the darkspawn to contend with?" Anouk replied, wearily. "I had hoped that with the demon gone your brother's condition would turn for the better or that Morrigan would be able to create a cure for him, but I fear we have done all we could. I do not know what more you wish of us."

Teagan sighed, "I understand that you have the darkspawn to contend with, my lady, but in order to do so you need an army. My brother is well-respected and a powerful voice in the Landsmeet, without him many of the nobles will be forced to back Loghain out of nothing more than a sense of duty."

"Unfortunately," Dmitri interjected bitterly, "Teagan's not wrong. If my father were still alive, the need for Arl Eamon's support for our cause would be moot."

"So it's to be a wild boar chase, then?" Anouk wondered.

"I fear no one else will be able to accomplish this, my lady. I would search myself but I cannot leave Redcliffe to its own devices, not in this state," Teagan said to her.

"What will you be doing in the meantime, Teagan?" Alistair asked.

Another tired, resigned sigh. "I will remain here, as I said. I must rebuild the army, the castle staff, draft new soldiers… It is my hope that when my brother awakens… if he awakens, I will be able to return Redcliffe to him in a state where it will be of some use in the coming war."

"What will you do with Jowan?" Leliana asked.

"I am not sure as of yet," Teagan admitted, turning to Leliana with a small smile. "He is the reason my brother fell ill, but he did not deceive us when he cast the ritual; however, he killed Isolde… I admit, I am unsure how to handle it." Leliana nodded as Teagan returned his attention to Anouk, "What do you think I should do with him?"

"I do not see how my opinion should hold any bearing," Anouk answered, taking the liberty of refilling her glass of wine.

"It was your decision to cast the ritual," Alistair said.

"So you seem content in reminding me," she shot out through her teeth. "It was not a decision I made lightly."

Alistair's eyes darkened as he narrowed them at her, but Teagan interrupted. "You had some reason to trust that he would not betray us. I respect your opinion."

Anouk shook her head, turning to look at Teagan. "He would have been a fool to betray us in the first place, he knew it, as did we all. In any case, I do not see how his fate is yours to decide. If you would find a use for him around the castle, so be it. If you would not trust him then keep him in the dungeon until Eamon recovers to do with as he sees fit."

Teagan mulled over Anouk's words for a few moments and she took the opportunity to polish off another hunk of bread and the remainder of her glass. Finally, Teagan smiled and shook his head, "You are very wise, my lady. Very well, Jowan will stay in the dungeon and should Eamon fail to recover his fate is sealed." Standing from his chair, Teagan clapped his hands together, "In the meantime I am sure you are all very tired and you have a long day ahead of you; rooms have been prepared for all of you in the guest wing."

.

.

They left Redcliffe in the morning after a large breakfast that would fulfill the three Wardens' appetite for at least most of the day. Dmitri charted their route to Denerim using mostly lesser known roads to avoid patrols of Loghain's men, it likely meant they would encounter more bandits but it was a calculated risk they were willing to take. The village provided them with supplies they needed free of charge in thanks for their assistance - sturdy new arms and replacement armor from Owen in thanks for saving his daughter, while Teagan presented Alistair with a shield of Redcliffe's finest knights. Mother Hannah blessed them for their travels, asking the Maker to protect and watch over them.

They rendezvoused with Bodahn and Sandal about a mile or so outside of the village, and they filled in the merchant on their plan to head to Denerim and why. As they walked, Leliana took great pleasure in regaling Bodahn and Sandal with the tale of the attack at nightfall and how it was all the work of a wicked demon, though Anouk suspected that she embellished for Sandal's sake who had taken quite a liking to the lay sister and insisted on holding her hand as they walked and she talked. Leliana of course was thrilled to have an audience who was listening intently.

Because there was no need for Anouk to go hunting for dinner, they decided to make camp much later in the day than usual. They pitched camp not far from a small creek allowing them to wash that day's travels from their skin. The water was cold as ice, but Anouk still splashed her face until she couldn't feel her cheeks. Crouching at the creek side, she allowed the ripples in the dark water to fade returning it to a mirrored surface that reflected the stars in the sky and the spattering of leaves above. In the distance she could hear the rummaging of camp, of Leliana strumming her lute, Dmitri sharpening his sword and it was comforting. Anouk was already coming to realize that wherever they decided to pitch camp was becoming her home, and the companions she traveled with, even Sten who regarded her with a critical eye, were becoming her family.

But what was missing from the sounds of camp was Alistair's usual noise and the sounds of his movements she had already come to recognize. And when Anouk heard the rustle of the underbrush behind her, she understood why.

"Alistair," she greeted over her shoulder before standing and making ready to leave.

"Wait," he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. "I… want to talk to you about what happened in Redcliffe."

Anouk shook her head, jostling his hand from her. "Not right now Alistair," she said.

She pushed her way through the brush, easily side stepping the trees and daintily avoiding protruding roots. But Alistair was a warrior and lacked her hunter's grace so it didn't take long for Anouk to hear him stumbling along behind her.

"_When _then?" he snapped. "When you've had enough time to rationalize and be rid of your guilt? I can see it in your eyes, Anouk! No, we're going to talk about this _now!_"

He caught up to her just as she stepped into camp, halting her by grabbing her elbow forcefully. He managed to pinch the nerve there, shooting a pain all the way up her shoulder and making her stop in her tracks.

Gritting her teeth, Anouk wrenched her arm free, feeling her nostrils flare in anger as she rounded on him. "So be it," she sneered, "speak your piece."

Faced with Anouk's sudden anger, Alistair appeared to lose steam, unprepared to be challenged. His mouth open and closed a few times before he took a deep breath and leveled her with a glare and an accusatory finger in her direction. "HOW COULD YOU, ANOUK! HOW COULD YOU ALLOW LADY ISOLDE TO SACRIFICE HER LIFE WITH BLOOD MAGIC!"

Anouk had known this was coming since she made the decision, had seen the expression on his face. But she was not ready to really face it, Alistair's anger with her, with a decision she had made and the gravel in his voice threatened to weaken her knees. The background noise around camp came to a halt and all Anouk could hear was her heartbeat in her ears overpowering the sounds of the night.

But her voice was surprisingly even when she spoke. "You think I should have killed a _child_ instead? A child, need I remind you, whose only crime was that he wished to protect his father?"

Alistair faltered for a moment, blinking at her and her lack of inflection. Storming on he shouted, "Of course not! BUT THERE WERE OTHER OPTIONS! We could have gone to the Circle of Magi. WE SHOULD HAVE DONE _ANYTHING_ THAT DIDN'T INVOLVE BLOOD MAGIC, THAT'S FOR DAMN SURE! This is the arl's _wife_ we're talking about, just what do you think he's going to say when he wakes up?"

Anouk held up her arms on either side of her, pushing up her shoulders in the motion of shrugging. "Perhaps you are right, I do not know Alistair, and it is too late to change anything now, the best we can do is keep moving forward."

She dropped her arms and turned, done with the conversation. Behind her, Anouk heard Alistair take a breath, "I just don't know how you could do it, make a decision like that… I owe Eamon more than this."

Anouk stopped cold because it appeared that Alistair did not have the same insight that Dmitri possessed. She turned sharply, facing him one again but keeping the distance because she wasn't sure she could refrain from striking him.

"WHAT CHOICE DID I HAVE, ALISTAIR!" she screamed, her voice cracking on his name. "TELL ME WHAT CHOICE _YOU _LEFT ME BECAUSE IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT YOU AND DMITRI CHOSE TO FOLLOW _MY_ LEAD! _WHATEVER I DECIDE, YOU'LL FOLLOW ME - _YOUR WORDS, ALISTAIR! I WAS NOT GOING TO SUFFER A CHILD'S BLOOD ON MY HANDS, AND I WAS NOT GOING TO RISK LEAVING HIM WITH THE DEMON IN HIM TO TORMENT THOSE POOR PEOPLE FURTHER ONLY FOR US TO HAVE TO END HIS LIFE ANYWAY! HIS MOTHER'S LIFE WAS A SMALL PRICE TO PAY FOR WHAT THOSE VILLAGER'S SUFFERED BECAUSE OF HER FOOLISH PRIDE!"

She stopped and took a breath to calm herself down, hoping to cool the heat in her cheeks and the adrenaline pumping through her veins. When she spoke next, her voice was softer, but ragged, tired and even she could hear the tears in her voice as she spoke. "I will carry the decision I made and the death that resulted from it for eternity; and there will be many more decisions and many more deaths to shoulder. If that is a burden you think you can undertake, Alistair, you are quite welcome to relieve me of it."

Anouk met his eyes briefly, allowing him to see the emotions swimming in the expanse of her gaze. Alistair's frame deflated, his hand raised as if to lay it on her arm but there was too much distance between them and before he could say anything else, Anouk turned and retreated to her tent.

* * *

><p><strong>SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY! <strong>

**I'm sorry this is extremely late, but here's  
>what I've been doing with my life... <strong>

**playing Mass Effect 1 & 2. Yeahh...  
>but good news is I'm ready for ME3! <strong>

**So anyway, confrontation about Anouk's decisions  
>in Redcliffe... I wasn't going to CAPSLOCK Alistair<br>yelling, but as I was typing I realized that italics  
>and exclamation points just did not fully express<br>Alistair's MANGER. **

**Uhm... We'll be getting Zevran in a chapter or two ;) **

**Thank you to those who gave me birthday wishes! **

**And thank you to... Cibiripilli, CynderJenn, Selande,  
>tardisgater, lynn-writer, and Ra'iira The Fiend for<br>reviewing either the last chapter or any chapter  
>while ME ruled my life for a little while :) <strong>

**See ya! :) **

**-(gxr)- **


	16. XVI

**Wilder**

.

.

**XVI**

.

.

The last time Anouk made a decision that resulted in loss of life, it was a time of war for her people.

There was a drought, she remembered, preceded by a dreadfully brutal summer that scorched the land and soil. Most of the crops had failed so when it came time for the Harvest there was little enough food to survive the following season's freeze. The Wild's ecosystem was suffering greatly due to the harsh conditions and those of the _Kanati_ could not provide the meat of hunted game as they had in years and seasons past. The most dangerous animal in the Wilds had become the wolves because their usual prey had fled seeking better prospects, and so the wolves turned to the humans to fill their bellies.

The hunters became the hunted. People were starving, dying, frightened and tensions between villages were rising.

Anouk's tribe was one of the largest Chasind tribes in the Wilds, known among her people as the Sokanon, and was the closest village to Lothering which made trade with the grassland town easy enough. Her village was not flourishing during the time of hardship, though it was better off then the more secluded villages due to its nearness and trade with the grasslanders. Every person in Anouk's village, including her father, had made sacrifices to ensure the tribe came out stronger. Hunting and scouting parties were doubled, patrols around the village were doubled, those who could afford to go without food for a day or two did so to ensure that those who could not were fed. And it was in this manner that Anouk's village did not lose a single life.

The _Ulagu _of the Adoeete lost both his wife and child to an illness that had come on after ingesting food gone foul. Ojai pleaded with Menawa for assistance for his tribe, but her own tribe was barely getting by as well; however, unlike Ojai, who had chosen to keep his family, hunters and warriors well taken care of, Anouk's father had chosen to look after his entire village as Ojai _should_ have done. Her father denied Ojai the assistance he requested and three days later, the gutted carcass of a wolf missing only one rib bone was delivered to her village.

Anouk remembered well the stony expression that settled over her father's features as he crouched down slowly to examine the animal. His eyes, a matching set to her own, smoldered in a way that sent ripples of anxiety through her nerves as he reached out toward the wolf. The crack of breaking bone seemed to resonate through the village as her father tore another rib from the animal's structure and his hand came away bloody, bone curled tightly in his hand. Anouk was never more proud to be Menawa's daughter than when her father rose to his feet and looked out at his people and she saw the storm clouds of uncertainty in his eyes.

A single war cry rose from the crowd, soon joined by others until Anouk's ears rang with the support her people gave to her father. Ever so slowly, the clouds shifted from her father's eyes and became still with determination as he raised the rib bone to the sky.

The challenge of war had been accepted. And it was senseless, driven by Ojai's grief over his family's death and his failure to sustain his own village. He found someone to blame in Menawa, who allowed grassland missionaries in his village and traded with them, forgoing the isolationism few other tribes chose. To Ojai, Anouk's father was betraying their people and their culture. That was reason enough to begin the war and Ojai found allies in the Niabi and Wozutambi.

Anouk was given the command of six of her tribe's best hunters, trackers and trap-makers, including Taiomah. Their orders were simple: scout the enemy camps, watch their movements, take count of their forces and report back. But Anouk was stubborn and filled with _such_ hubris then; she was lucky she didn't lose her own life when she made a mistake and was caught.

Try as Anouk may, she could never forget those days because it was the only time in her life that she wished for death. She was held in the standard way - made to sit on her heels, weight forward on her knees, back braced against a great wooden stake in the ground, wrists bound around it and her arms stretched behind her fixed to the wood with another smaller stake through the ropes. She was held for three days without food, or water, or human contact, the position she was held in meant to be a punishment in and of itself because it was a stress position, weakening her knees and overtime dislocating her shoulders. After those first three days, Ojai himself visited her and he began to question her on the location of her camps, those under her command, her father's strategy. She had stayed silent, did not even deign to acknowledge that he was in the tent with her and for her reward received a long laceration down the length of her right thigh that scarred fantastically. The smell of her blood attracted the vermin and Anouk spent the night trying to fidget the biting and gnawing creatures away from her.

It continued in that manner for several more days and the more uncooperative Anouk was, the more severe her punishment. She remembered that there was not an inch of her body that was not covered in healing bruises or weeping wounds, and she was _hurt_ down to the breaks in her bones. Ojai had finally had enough of her 'disobedience' he had called it and it was then that he had begun the daily ritual of flaying small strips of her skin from her arms, legs, back and stomach.

Anouk had never before felt such scathing _hatred_ for a single person, it scarred her soul in a manner it would never recover from, burned her through and through. Her thoughts when she was conscious were filled with depraved acts of revenge against those who had broken her body and tried to break her spirit. She wanted to feel her skin slick with their blood, hold their still beating hearts in her hands and watch their eyes as she crushed them. It made Anouk an entirely different person. Stronger, in a sense, but terrifyingly different.

She had no way of knowing what was going on outside of the small tent where she was held, but her rescue had come during one of her rare moments of consciousness. When Taiomah cut her free of her bonds, she was boneless when she tried to stand, and had collapsed back to the ground with a cry. There was no feeling in her arms or legs and he had to carry Anouk back to the village and it was the first time in her life Anouk had ever been cowed by shame because her body was in such a state. Taiomah told her what had occured over the duration of her capture, the battles that had been fought and those who had lost their lives. Many of their warriors were injured and while Aleshanee and her student were doing what they could to ease their pain and heal the wounded, many still passed into the ghost country.

But Anouk had not spent the weeks only being a victim - she had come up with a plan to cripple the enemy forces: poison their water supply.

She had learned that the Adoeete forces were using a pond of little importance to Anouk's own tribe so it would not have been difficult to poison it. The plan was to hollow out small logs to create a system of wooden pipes that ran from the pond the enemy was using to another, smaller body of water, poison the smaller body of water and lift the blocks between the two allowing them to share water flow. It seemed illogical to poison two water supplies during a drought with so little water available given that the well in her village had run dry, but it was a calcuated risk. If they could weaken the enemy enough that their numbers dwindled, Menawa could force Ojai to surrender to avoid further bloodshed.

Despite Aleshanee's healing, Anouk was kept on bed rest for a week and she saw the world through a red film during that time and was driven by her seemingly overwhelming desire for revenge. She wouldn't meet anyone's eye, not even Taiomah's because Anouk did not want them to see the darkness that had overcome her, that marked her now as something different, closer to the Dark Ones than anything human.

The war council convened, discussing the plan Anouk had suggested and while she usually would have stayed silent in these meetings to show respect to her father, this time Anouk lent her voice, unable to remain silent. Many suggested a fast acting poison to deliver a devastating blow all at once, but Anouk had voted for a slow acting poison that would fell a few at a time and whittle their forces over a matter of days and because it was her idea originally, her vote won out. And Anouk had always suspected that it was because she had voiced the plan and the idea of what poison to use with such calm, such _conrtrol_ that no one suspected it was born from her own burning desire for vindication.

It took weeks to hollow out the number of logs required then to build the piping system and camouflage it so it would not be discovered. Anouk resumed her duties with her team, and when the poison claimed its first victim Anouk's mouth had split into a vile grin. She watched them die in twos and threes, relished in their confusion as their bodies grew weaker and the paralytic characteristic of the poison took effect. She found herself disappointed when some passed quietly, and exalted when more still passed in screaming agony.

And because it had been Anouk's own suggestion to use that particular compound, she knew those who had been assigned under her command began to look at her differently. Now they had seen the darkness in her, the unseen scars capture had left in the wake of all the visible ones and the revenge that had fueled her decisions and her actions.

But not one of them questioned her.

.

.

The war was five summers ago when Anouk was eighteen. But even now, having seen twenty-three summers, Anouk wondered if what had driven her decision to allow the blood-magic ritual wasn't her own sense of retribution. Perhaps too overwhelmed with relief, the villagers of Redcliffe hadn't seemed to want revenge, only to overcome the devastation visited upon them. But Anouk had no way of knowing if they wanted revenge for Isolde's secrecy and Jowan's actions that resulted in the loss of so many lives because the choice had been denied them. Part of her reasoned that yes, the decision to allow the ritual stemmed her from her _own desire _to see someone pay for what had been done. The other part had yet to make a decision on the matter.

Anouk knew that if there had been enough room in her tent, she would be pacing. As it happened, there was not enough room in her tent to fully stand let alone pace so Anouk found herself sitting, staring at the fabric wall, pushing her clenched fists into the dirt. She relentlessly gnawed on the inside of cheek, ignoring the tang of blood between her teeth and forcing the frustrated sounds undulating in the back of her throat from rising to the tip of her tongue. Shame burned on her cheeks and made her heart race still thinking about her utter loss of control.

If there was one thing Anouk prided herself on more than her skill as a hunter and a tracker, it was her control. It was a hard learned trait of the _Kanati,_ and especially honed in those who would travel with Chasind merchants to grassland villages as Anouk had. After a few incidents that resulted in Chasind villages being burned to the ground in retribution, outsiders learned _exactly_ what threads to pull to earn a volatile reaction from her people; so those who accompanied the merchants had to learn to be emotionally neutral, how to resolve a situation calmly so as to not bring wrath down on their villages. It was how Anouk managed to endure the weeks in Ostagar, blank-faced and stolid on the surface, all the while seething and roiling with hatred underneath.

The noises outside her tent seemed suspiciously dulled now, but after her and Alistair's rather impressive display of temper, Anouk wasn't surprised. She regretted screaming at him, more angry with herself than Alistair because she shouldn't have lost her temper in that manner, at least, not in front of everyone. She should have stood there, impassive and patient, while Alistair said what he felt needed to be said and after that Anouk should have walked away no matter if her irritation made it feel like her hair was on fire.

She had not lied to Alistair when she told him that she would carry Isolde's death for eternity, just as she carried the dozens of deaths that resulted from the wartime decision she had made. But that was different, the deaths of the hunters and warriors of the Adoeete tribe were heavier because of the circumstances that caused them. Older, wiser Anouk questioned her own decision and often wondered if things could have gone differently if she had not been so blinded by a rage and vengeance that felt like a living, writhing thing inside of her. And she would do the same thing with Isolde's death, wondering if they shouldn't have tried to go to the Circle of Magi instead. But what Anouk didn't need was Alistair's voice in her head whenever she thought about it.

Anouk sighed heavily, leaning forward to press her forehead to the ground, stretching out the tightly corded muscles of her back and shoulders while her fingers sought out the pendant that seemed to be weighing down her pocket. She sat back up, bringing Alistair's pendant in front of her, examining it once again by the soft light of the glow-light (courtesy of Sandal) in her tent. She had intended to give it back to him, but in light of their embarrassing argument, Anouk wasn't sure when the right time would be or if he would even accept it from her anytime soon.

Anouk decided that of all the things they would encounter on this journey to end the Blight, it was likely going to be Alistair that made her lose her mind.

Huffing, Anouk put the pendant back in her pocket as she addressed the presence that had been standing outside her tent for the last few minutes. "Leliana, it is bad luck to linger in doorways," she said.

A moment later, the lay sister stooped inside looking sheepish. "I am sorry," she said, sitting down, "I was unsure if you would accept company."

"If I would not have accepted company, I would have ignored your presence," Anouk informed her. She began working off her armor as she asked, "Have you finally come to berate me as well?"

Leliana shook her head, "No, I have not. I… understand what it is to make decisions with… unsavory consequences and I am not unaccustomed to the aftermath of someone else's."

Anouk raised a skeptical eyebrow, lifting her padding over her head as well, unselfconscious of her own nakedness. She tried to ignore Leliana's casual perusing of the many scars usually hidden by her armor, and the resulting shock as she reached for the tunic that she slept in now - an extra one of Alistair's oddly. As to be expected because of Alistair's much larger, bulkier frame the tunic was ill-fitting. The shoulders sloped down Anouk's arms so she had to roll the sleeves up and over themselves several times and the neck was wide enough that she had to keep adjusting it so it wouldn't keep slipping over the curve of her shoulder. If she stood, the tunic's tattered, ill-repaired hem would brush against the top of her thighs.

And, though Anouk would _never_ admit it to anyone, she rather liked the way it smelled of Alistair.

"You were a _lay sister_ in a Chantry, Leliana," Anouk reminded her, settling into the overlarge shirt.

Leliana granted Anouk a nod of her head, "Yes, but as I told you when we met, not always."

Anouk watched something change in Leliana's eyes and face as she spoke, walls slammed up where there previously were none. Her expression stilled disconcertingly, her eyes went icy. It looked as though she simply shut down because there was absolutely _nothing_ _there_ anymore. For that brief instant, the person occupying the tent with Anouk was not the Leliana she knew. But it was gone almost as quickly as it had come and Leliana was back, her features coming to life and warmth returning to her eyes.

Anouk wanted to question, but changed her mind because before Leliana had shut down, she had seen lightning bright flash of overwhelming _pain_ shoot through Leliana's eyes. Mostly she changed her mind because it was a pain Anouk knew, and even a pain that Dmitri knew as well: the kind a person is never prepared to face or expect to have to come to terms with, worse than physical pain. Anouk and Dmitri lost everything, but for them it was easier to talk about it because the wounds were still fresh and when they talked about it, it was only like rubbing dirt in the wound - painful, but it could be cleaned and re-patched. But Anouk suspected that Leliana had come to terms with what she lost some time ago, the wounds had long since healed and scarred over, so if Anouk pressed Leliana on her life before becoming a lay sister it would be like dragging a blade across all those healed emotional battle scars.

Instead Anouk sighed and said, "I should not have yelled at Alistair."

Leliana chuckled then, "Perhaps not, but to be honest I think he feels just as wretched as you do; you should have seen his face."

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and worked her fingertips over her eyelids, before moving on to massaging her temples. "I do not know what came over me," Anouk admitted. "I am unaccustomed to being questioned. Among my people, you do not question those you follow no matter what you think of the decisions they make, or the orders they give."

"Well," Leliana said, patting Anouk's knee, "best not to dwell on it now, that's not why I've come anyway."

Anouk raised her eyebrow, "Oh?"

"You said you wanted to learn how to read common, if you're not too tired, I thought we might start now," she said, showing Anouk the book and several sheaves of parchment she had brought. "It'll at least get your mind off yours and Alistair's argument."

Anouk nodded eagerly, anything to stop thinking about the accusatory tone of Alistair's voice, the collapse of his features and the shock in his eyes when she raised her voice in return.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter gave me SO much trouble<br>which is why it's so late. I didn't even have  
>the entire first half of this chapter until earlier<br>today while I've opened by word doc and stared  
>at the second half for almost two and a half weeks. <strong>

**Oh, and I had to put down my cat that I've had  
>since I was about nine, on VALENTINE'S DAY<br>no less which put me in no mood to write for  
>a few days. <strong>

**And for those who are wondering, no I have  
>not purchased ME3 yet. I'm waiting a few weeks<br>hopefully to get another playthrough in on ME 1 & 2.**

**Next chapter we're getting Zevran I'm pretty sure  
>and just a warning, I'm totally changing his ambush<br>on the Wardens a bit and I'll explain why next chapter. **

**Anyway, thanks to Cibiripilli, tardisgater, olivegbg  
>Judy and BlairSilver for reviewing! You guys are great,<br>seriously, I'm flattered :)**

**-(gxr)-**

**EDITED: 3/28/12**


	17. XVII

**Wilder**

.

.

**XVII**

.

.

"We should make Denerim within the week, weather conditions permitting," Dmitri said, looking over the map they had.

"I still don't like the idea of us being in Denerim," Alistair commented, "Loghain will have his men everywhere: posters with our pictures, the city guard looking for us… not to mention: you _are _a noble Dmitri, that close to the palace we can't expect someone to not recognize you. You, me, Leliana - we can be discreet, blend into the crowd, but Anouk… she's kind of difficult to hide, then there's Morrigan and _Sten…_"

Really, the logistics of getting into Denerim and staying in the city unnoticed made Alistair's head spin. As far as Alistair knew, both Anouk and Morrigan had never been in a city. There was no way Alistair could get a grip on how the two would react to the capital city of Ferelden. The two had seemed okay in Redcliffe, but then again, the small fishing village had been lacking many of its inhabitants, where as Denerim would be teeming with people - loud, pushy and even rude people.

While Alistair was sure that Anouk and Sten possessed an admirable amount of control, he could already picture Morrigan shooting someone in the face with an arcane bolt in the middle of the Denerim market. Just the thought made him groan because that's exactly what they needed - the Chantry coming down on them for traveling with an apostate… and not just any apostate, the daughter of _the_ Witch of the Wilds. And if that happened, Alistair wasn't entirely sure that Morrigan wouldn't drown them in blood to escape.

Dmitri chuckled, "I know, but unfortunately Genitivi's research is in Denerim. We need to know what he knows about the Urn to find it, and if he hasn't found it yet, then maybe we can find something he missed or overlooked."

"You don't think we'll find it," Alistair stated.

Dmitri took a slow breath as he began to fold the map and stow it away, considering Alistair's words. "I have my doubts," he admitted with a nod. "Finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes is something that a hero in a bard's tale would accomplish… _after_ it's been told for a generation or two, layered with embellishment, too far removed from what actually happened that no one can tell the truth from the story." Dmitri breathed another sigh, rubbing his hand along the few days worth of stubble on his cheeks. "This is reality, Alistair, not a bard's tale."

"I know that," Alistair replied, "but -"

Dmitri's hand came down heavily on his shoulder, and when he looked up his friend was smiling indulgently, dark eyes shining and the corners of his eyes crinkling. How could Alistair not have noticed how _tired_ Dmitri looked until that moment? Of the three of them, the nightmares that came along with being a Grey Warden seemed to be affecting Dmitri the worst. Despite the fact that Morrigan had begun making the sleeping draught in large quantities, the edges of his friend's eyes were red, the corners weighed down by fatigue, the whites fractured by cracks of red giving away just how little sleep the man was getting. But not once had Dmitri faltered or complained; in their travels he led their group toward Denerim with his self-assured confidence and when they made camp Anouk usually gave Dmitri the first watch of the night knowing that if she gave the first watch to Alistair, it was likely she would find him dozing off.

"I want the same thing you want: for the Arl to get better, but you have to keep in mind that there is hope, and then there is delusion," he said, gently, "and the line between them is very narrow."

Alistair could only nod as out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anouk stand out of her tent. Her attention swiveled around the small camp, bouncing endearingly to the balls of her feet in impatience when she could not find whoever she was looking for. Finally, Anouk's gaze settled on Alistair and Dmitri, lingering longer on Alistair, only the briefest of hesitations in her movements before she pivoted and made her way toward them.

Alistair took a deep breath hoping to steady the rapid palpitations of his heart as she walked toward them because she was willingly putting herself in close proximity to him. They were around one another when they had to be and quickly found somewhere else to be when they didn't, the awkward tension between them driving them apart. All of their conversations since leaving Redcliffe were superficial and almost overly polite, neither of them acknowledging the brief argument they'd had. Truthfully, Alistair almost couldn't bring himself to talk to Anouk after the way he yelled at her. He knew that she did the best she could with what she had been given and looking back, Alistair was glad that they didn't have to kill Connor.

_We put her in this position,_ Dmitri had told him after witnessing the argument. _It's easy to criticize someone when you're not the one making the tough calls. Did you truly think Anouk was having no doubts about it, herself? _

He knew Dmitri was right and he should have known better than to second guess Anouk in that manner, but he had needed to confront her before she buried it as she seemed so skilled at doing, facing it with an expressionless mask like she wasn't even human - just an artfully made construct capable of rational thought. Alistair needed to _know_ that the remorse he had seen was genuine. And Anouk had exceeded all of his expectations in that instant when the thread snapped and she lost control of her tightly coiled emotions. In that moment, with her emotions bursting through, _connecting_ to him even through anger, Anouk was more human to Alistair than she had been since they met.

"Where is Morrigan?" Anouk asked, the toe of her boot kicking up dirt as she stopped.

"Uhm, collecting herbs I think," Dmitri replied. "Why?"

"I need to hunt," she answered. "Our game is low."

"Our game's been low for days, you haven't been able to find healthy animals to hunt," Alistair reminded her.

It was true, Anouk had not been able to properly hunt for almost a week. Because of their proximity to the Hinterlands and thus the Blight lands, all of the game Anouk had been able to find was tainted and feral. Killing them anyway, Anouk had said, was a mercy. For the past week or so they had been living… or rather, _surviving _on Alistair's poor excuse for stew using only a minimum amount of meat which, in reality, was the only thing that made it even slightly edible. But that did not stop the three Wardens from devouring second or even third helpings - _anything _sate the near constant hollow ache in their stomachs.

The hunter nodded, turning her attention to him. "I am aware of that, but we have traveled far in the last few days and I do not feel the taint in the earth here; it is healthy yet," she said and tapped her foot to the ground for emphasis. "If I am fortunate I will be able to track _something_ and if we're going to take this day to rest, I may as well do something useful."

"It's a _rest_ day for a reason, Anouk," Dmitri said with a small laugh.

"Oh? And what do you plan to do?" she wondered.

"I was going to spar with Sten," he answered easily.

Anouk arched an eyebrow high, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth, "Then it appears you will not be doing much _resting_, Dmitri." She waved a hand dismissively as if she could brush away the topic. "Where is Leliana, then?"

"With Morrigan," Alistair answered.

Her left eyebrow arched up to meet the other in surprise, "Truly? And Morrigan agreed?"

Alistair shrugged, "Leliana at least can help Morrigan pick herbs where Dmitri and I would be pulling up grass. Besides, I think the agreement was that Leliana could go with Morrigan as long as she didn't talk."

With an impatient sigh, Anouk's hands perched themselves on her narrow hips. "Well, either one of you accompanies me or I will go alone."

Alistair was aware of Dmitri turning to him because unlike his companions, Alistair had fully planned to take advantage of the rest day and maybe fix some of the holes in his socks. But neither of them liked the idea of Anouk venturing into the forest alone where they could not reach her if she encountered trouble because while the taint in their veins was progressing allowing them to sense the proximity of their fellow Wardens, it was still likely they would arrive too late to be of any assistance if she needed them.

"Alistair…?" Dmitri prompted.

He breathed a heavy sigh through his nose, rubbing his own days old stubble before he began to clamor to his feet. "I'll go."

Anouk's mouth abruptly puckered, color rose to the apple of her cheeks and Alistair was almost certain that she was going to change her mind about the whole thing. But she slanted her arms over her chest and said, "I will get my things."

As she walked away, Alistair turned back to Dmitri finding his friend failing to suppress a grin. Dmitri cleared his throat and wiped his hand across his mouth, seeming to take the grin with his hand. "Have fun," he said, his tone flat but mischief was sparkling in his eyes.

.

.

Anouk was never taking Alistair hunting with her again.

He was _loud_. So loud in fact, Anouk had to wonder if he was doing it on purpose because surely the man nearly dragging his feet behind her was not the same man who moved with such grace and ease in a battle almost as if his feet only ghosted along the ground. She had gotten on the trail of the first untainted deer she'd seen in weeks and while she could follow the physical trail, track it through the underbrush and mud, broken twigs and beds of needles, the sound of Alistair thundering, stumbling along with her only made the trail become that much longer.

What Anouk wouldn't give for Taiomah's feather light tread behind her because even when the leaves had fallen or the snow had become stiff and crunched underfoot, Taiomah had an uncanny ability to muffle the sounds of his footfalls, perfectly instep with her. And at least when Anouk hunted with Morrigan, she would slink off in as a wolf and return with small game clamped in her jaw and leave Anouk to track larger prey.

With Alistair stomping along behind her, Anouk felt as though she was being followed around by a grizzly bear and she couldn't concentrate.

After being on the trail of the deer for over an hour and having ventured father from the camp than she would have liked, Anouk finally stopped. She had managed to put a small distance between her and Alistair and now that she had even the shortest amount of time to herself, Anouk could feel irritation seeping into her veins. She had _never_ failed to track her prey and now because of one stumbling man who would trip over every upturned root if Anouk was not there to warn him, she would.

But the brief moment without Alistair proved more telling than the sound of his heavy footsteps in the brush. She knew the feeling creeping up her spine, the feel of the air - too still as if nature were holding its breath. Anouk's didn't move, but her eyes swept the area, the ground surrounding her as the sounds of Alistair's footsteps drew closer and _there _just at the edge of the copse: the distinct depression and pattern in the ground of boot prints, hastily swept away.

Alistair finally stepped over the fallen tree into the tiny clearing behind her. "Have you lost the trail?"

Anouk shook her head as she stepped backward, her arm unconsciously reaching out behind her blindly seeking Alistair's wrist. "Alistair -" she whispered, but the words were too quiet for him - Taiomah would have heard her as if she screamed it.

"Look, Anouk, since we're going to take a break for a moment, I just wanted to -"

"Alistair."

" - No, let me finish!" He sighed before continuing, ignoring the fact that she had yet to turn around. It was likely that he wasn't even looking at her. "I wanted say that I'm sorry I got on your back about Redcliffe…" he was speaking quickly, trying not to stumble over his words.

Finally, Anouk's hand found his wrist and she heard him hiss when her jagged fingernails dug into the sensitive skin. "Anouk, what -" but he stopped short when she spun into him, sucking in a breath as his hands instinctively dropped to her waist.

A furious blush mottled Alistair's cheeks and was rapidly descending down his neck, but whether it was at her proximity or the fact that his fingers were splayed against her bare sides, Anouk didn't know. At least she had his attention now, but her blood was racing as well at his proximity, their shared taint rippling through veins and tugging at the base of her skull. She let Alistair collect himself, breathing slowly and hoping that he would follow in calming his own shuddering breaths. Tilting her head, Anouk allowed her temple to rest against his cheekbone as her hands settled over his shoulders.

"Settle, Alistair," Anouk breathed as though she were speaking to a spooked horse.

"What - are you _doing?_" Alistair demanded, voice grated and husky, his words breezing against the curve of Anouk's neck and shoulder.

"I do not think we are alone," she told him and she felt the muscle in his jaw tense, the tendons in his neck rise. Just as he was about to turn his head to sweep the area, Anouk's hand cupped his opposite cheek, keeping him from doing so. "Don't," she said, "if whoever or whatever is watching we cannot let them know we have realized that they are near."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" he wondered, his tone almost mocking.

"You are going to stay here while I look around," Anouk told him.

"What -!" but he stopped short, pulling another harsh breath through his teeth when her low chuckle broke across the hollow of his throat.

"Did you think my skills have only been used to hunt animals, Alistair?"

She felt his hands tighten against her hip bones, her skin plumping in the spaces between his fingers. "Anouk, do you honestly think I'm going to let you -"

"I am not giving you a choice," she hissed.

Then before he could protest further, Anouk turned her head and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. It did it's job, distracting Alistair long enough that by the time he regained himself a moment later Anouk was already gone.

She marked her path as she went, leaving trail signs for herself that would lead her back to the clearing where she left Alistair. It reminded Anouk of more innocent times, when this sort of thing was a game between her and Taiomah - venture from a set meeting place and see who could track the other first. While Anouk may have been the better shot of the two, Taiomah was the better tracker and she knew that the times when she did catch him first, he'd let her win.

Anouk tracked her unknown prey for almost half an hour, but there was something odd about the trail the longer she followed it. The last stretch of distance she had traversed, the trail was clearer, easier to follow and she didn't have to spend a moment to discern where the trail picked up again. It was almost as if -

_Click _

She wasn't quick enough. A scant hesitation and Anouk had time to feel panic slither its way along her bones before she felt the bladed teeth of the leg-hold trap clamp into the soft flesh of her calf. She cried out, pain rippling up through the muscle of her leg and buckling her knees, collapsing her into the earth. Gritting her teeth, Anouk was breathing heavily through her nose and blinking back the startled tears that sprang to the corners of her eyes. Her hands immediately ventured to her hip kit, shaking fingers undoing the buckles and digging through the trap triggers, lengths of rope and cloth only to discover - no poultices.

She punched the ground in frustration before turning her attention to the trap that held her leg. It hadn't been left for a terribly long time, the metal bore no signs of elemental stress, there was no rust and the hinges hadn't whined in protest. It had been placed recently. Anouk had been correct, her and Alistair were not alone in the forest; but the question remained - who was out there with them? It was a logical conclusion to think it might have been bandits, but then why create a false trail for her to follow and then trap her? Why not attack when she and Alistair were alone in the clearing?

At the edges of her vision, a figure seemed to materialize out of the shadow of a tree. Her heart leapt into her throat as she turned to him, fear drying out her mouth - this was no common bandit, he was too well groomed, his leather armor too well maintained. Bright flaxen hair brushed his shoulders, braided neatly out of his brown cat-like eyes, dancing with the wicked grin pulling the corners of his mouth. He stepped slowly into the light, his lithe figure moving with the languid abandon of a wildcat and Anouk could see the tattoo that swept the left side of his face from jaw to temple - a tribal tattoo like her own maybe?

"Hello my dear," he finally said. His voice was like velvet, his accent caressing every word like a lover before they passed his lips. "I have been awaiting this moment for days, you know, following your camp was becoming terribly dull," he continued. "I am glad that you ventured away with your fellow Warden though. It saves me from having to put in an extra effort when your third comes searching for you."

A sudden rage burst in Anouk's chest at his veiled mention of Alistair and Dmitri - the two people she promised herself she would protect that day at Flemeth's hut. In the span of her next breath, Anouk reached behind her as she pulled, anchored, and let loose an arrow in one snap of muscle and sinew. But pain made her vision blurry and her arrow hit the tree where he _had_ been standing only a moment ago.

He stepped again from the shadows, the smile on his face stretched further. "How interesting," he muttered, fingers tapping against his chin as he assessed his prize. "I think I shall leave you for last, my lovely Warden. For now, I believe you left your friend alone, did you not?"

His laugh followed him as he stepped back and the shadows of the forest seemed to wrap themselves around his form. Anouk, for her part, began to panic and she thought for a moment that she was going to vomit up her heart with its insistent pounding, urging her to move faster. Her hands fumbled terribly in her blind anxiety searching for the release of the leg-hold, the only thing on her mind was to _get to Alistair before him_. The trap's metal hinges sighed as she pressed the trap away from her leg and stood, slinging her bow around her shoulder once again.

Anouk took three steps and collapsed on herself, lightning pain shooting up her leg and colored spots appearing before her eyes. She bit her lip, half sobbing as she forced herself to stand once again because _she had endured worse than this before_ and began hobbling back the way she came. She forced herself to pick up the pace, ignoring the twinge and the blood she could feel gliding down her leg, pooling in the bottom of her boot. She put herself at a brisk jog, dodging trees and roots, not bothering to search for the trail signs she left herself, instead following the taint in her blood, trusting it to lead her to Alistair all the faster.

Like knows like, and just as the taint allowed Anouk to sense the Dark Ones, so did it allow her to sense Dmitri and Alistair. But it was different, the taint in her fellow Wardens veins called out to her own, thrilled through her blood. The near constant vibration of her nerves at their proximity to her had been threatening to drive her insane because Anouk felt as though she was never truly alone. It was a claustrophobia of sorts, feeling as though she was too confined by Dmitri and Alistair's constant nearness. Now, she relished it, knowing that the urgent prickling of her nerves meant she was close.

She fell, panting, through the copse of trees back into the clearing where she had left Alistair. He immediately jolted to his feet, suddenly all unease and tension as he crouched beside her. Alistair's eyes were wide as he noticed the damage to her leg. "Anouk what happened!" he demanded urgently.

But Anouk didn't answer, instead she stood, using the tree at her side for balance. She had beat him there? Had he gone at a slower pace, not expecting her to release herself, or if she did, not expecting that she would make it back to Alistair in time?

"You shouldn't be standing on that leg!" Alistair scolded her.

She spun toward him. "Alistair! When he comes into the clearing, I need you to back him into this tree, do you understand me?"

Confusion claimed his features, knotting his face as his eyebrows slanted together. "Who? Anouk what are you ta -"

She grabbed the neck of his armor, bringing his face down to hers. "I said _do you understand me! _We do not have time for this!"

He blinked at her, and lips pressed down into a firm line, he nodded. Anouk nodded in approval and released him before she turned to face the tree, pulling herself up into the leaves by the lowest branch she could reach. Anouk hid herself in the foliage, crouching against the trunk of the tree and hanging her quiver of arrows from another branch as she removed her bow. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, trying to play off the lightness in her head and the numbness spreading up her leg that was surely associated with blood loss. Anouk watched diligently, unstringing her bow and coiling the string around her hand.

When he finally stepped into the clearing, Alistair was confused for the amount of time it took the blonde to draw his weapons - a longsword and dagger. Alistair exclaimed, drawing his own sword and donning his shield as he engaged the man who had caught her in his trap. The other man moved like liquid, all volume and shape but shifting effortlessly; Anouk could see that it was almost difficult for Alistair to keep up, the other man was so quick footed. But finally, after several minutes it took one... two... three hits from Alistair's shield and the blonde man stumbled back toward the tree where she was hiding.

Anouk dropped down heavily behind him, pressing the curve of her unstrung bow against his throat and using her own body as leverage. He struggled violently, throwing his elbows back, trying to hook his feet behind her knees and ankles to tilt them off balance. When a well-placed kick backward connected with her injured leg, Anouk cried out and nearly lost her balance due to the black spots that nearly took her vision, but she steadied herself back against the trunk of the tree for extra leverage.

When the man finally lost consciousness, Anouk allowed her strength to pool at her feet, collapsing to the ground with her and Alistair's would-be assassin.

.

.

Alistair set his jaw firmly when he finally set his sights on Anouk's injured leg. "You're lucky the leg-hold missed the bone," he grumbled, wiping away the blood so he could get a better look. "You shouldn't have run on it, it looks like you've torn the muscle."

"I had to get to you first," she replied distantly, attention focused on the assassin currently hanging upside down from a tree branch.

He breathed a small sigh, "As much as I appreciate your concern, I _can_ take care of myself. Isn't that what you're always telling me and Dmitri?"

They hadn't left the tiny clearing yet. Anouk was in no condition to walk until Alistair finished cleaning and tending to her wounded leg and they had no way to get the elven assassin back to camp unconscious. They'd been gone half the day by now and Alistair only hoped they would be able to return before nightfall. The last thing Alistair wanted was Dmitri venturing into the woods searching for them.

Anouk's eyes flickered a withering look in his direction and he resisted the urge to chuckle at her. Reaching into his kit, Alistair removed a few elfroot leaves and placed them in his mouth, chewing the herb into a paste. Anouk hissed, her fingers clenching in the dirt when he spread the paste over the open wounds on her leg. She tried to jerk her leg away, but Alistair had a firm hold just under her knee.

"That hurts!" she hollered.

"Of course it hurts," Alistair retorted, "and it's going to hurt until we get back to camp and put some proper poultices on it."

Anouk released a growl under her breath, "You could at least distract me."

"With what?"

"I don't know…" her eyes drifted away from him again. "Tell me about how you became a Grey Warden, the story you told us on the way to Redcliffe was vague, as though you left much out."

Alistair felt his eyebrows slant together and his mouth pucker. Why would Anouk care how he became a Grey Warden? This woman who seemed to scorn the Order she was now a part of because of how she became what she is. But when he looked back up to tell her that it wasn't something he really wanted to talk about, those sea green eyes of hers were focused back on him, wide and curious.

He felt his mouth go dry as Alistair met her eyes, suddenly remembering the feel of her skin beneath his fingers and Anouk's thin frame in the circle of his arms. He knew it had been a ploy, a way to distract him so she could get away alone, but _Maker_, had it worked far better than he wanted to admit.

Alistair shook the thoughts from his head and with a sigh, he began working on her leg once again, regaling her with the story of how Duncan recruited him from the Chantry, how the Grand Cleric hadn't wanted to release him and Duncan was forced to conscript him. The story seemed to do its job because Anouk did not cry out again even as he poked and prodded, testing the severity and depth of the puncture marks so he could gauge how much poultice it would need when they returned to camp.

"I'm always going to be thankful to Duncan," he continued, wrapping a bandage along the curve of Anouk's calf. "If it wasn't for him I wouldn't have -" he stopped himself short of what he was about to say, feeling his eyes widen.

Her hand came against his shoulder, squeezing gently. "I am sorry for your pain," Anouk said, her sincerity like a warm breeze. "So why have you remained a Templar if you disliked it so in the Chantry?"

Alistair shrugged, thankful for the change of topic so he could swallow down the lump in his throat. "You don't really want to know this?"

"I do," she insisted. "You do not have to answer, I am only curious. Dmitri is very open with his life, when I speak with him I seldom have to ask questions that bid him to continue, you hide yours… or you hide behind it, I am unsure which as of yet."

Alistair couldn't help the startled laugh that rose from his throat because Anouk didn't know how accurate she was. For years Alistair hid behind his life, the path that was chosen for him, hopelessly resigning himself to his fate and never dreaming that he could be something other. But Duncan and the Grey Wardens had given him so much more than Alistair had ever hoped for - belonging.

"I'm sorry. I'm not really used to people asking me about my life," he said, sitting back on his haunches after he tied off the bandage. "I hated the Chantry, it's true. The initiates from the poor families thought I was arrogant, while the noble ones called me a bastard and ignored me. But I was actually quite good at the training, the discipline of it and training my mind - see, you don't need to take the vows to learn Templar talents. But I never felt at home _anywhere_ until the Grey Wardens, and when Duncan recruited me, he thought my Templar abilities could double for when we encountered darkspawn magic, so I kept it up."

He needed to change the topic, talking about Duncan always brought that clenching in the center of his chest. Alistair raised his head finding Anouk watching him intently and asked, "What about you? Do you have anywhere you consider home?"

When her eyes darkened in anguish, he immediately regretted his question. Anouk turned away from him, but she couldn't hide the shift of her features or the slight frown that weighed down the corners of her mouth. "I have nowhere I could venture to and rightfully call 'home'."

Alistair felt his heart drop at her words, the torment behind them that made him feel as though all of his organs had been scooped out. How insensitive he must have seemed to her in that moment. That's when Alistair knew his pain was nothing compared to the weight of Anouk's, but she marched on, bent but not broken. Of its own accord it seemed, Alistair's hand reached out and his fingers brushed against her jaw, gently guiding her eyes to face him once again.

"You know," he said, "the Blight won't last forever. It might seem far off, but there will be a time when we'll be able to think about having a real home again."

Her gaze drifted down and he felt her chin start to tilt, ready to pull away from his light grasp, but Alistair hooked his finger under Anouk's chin, lifting it once again. "There's not a whole lot of things I'm right about, but I am right about this, Anouk," he assured her, gently. "We'll have a home again, even it won't quite feel the same, it _will_ be a home."

Slowly the tension left Anouk's shoulders, and her eyes became less haunted by ghosts only she could see. There was a smile on her lips when she turned away from him again, barely quirking the corners of her mouth, but Alistair took comfort in it, hoping that she believed him.

* * *

><p><strong>Who has the worst updating skills ever? That would be me! <strong>

**So the reason I changed Zevran's ambush on the Wardens. **

**1) I didn't like the way the game did it, it was... tacky. I imagined  
>Zevran would have more... finesse than that, you know? And for<br>some reason I think of him as someone who likes to play with his  
>prey before he kills it.<br>2) I felt like it. Since this is kindofbutnotreally an AU, I figured  
>I might as well change it.<strong>

**Oh, and there was a tiny bit of Alistair/Anouk fluff in here...  
>you can see it, right? <strong>

**Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it really  
>means a lot to me! <strong>

**Hopefully I'll update quicker next time ^_^**

**-(gxr)- **

**EDITED: 4/13**

**Sorry about the multiple e-mails, I was having issues :/**


	18. XVIII

**Wilder**

.

.

**XVIII**

.

.

Alistair did not trust Zevran as far as he could throw the assassin, which considering how thin the elf was might have actually been quite far. And he was _definitely_ an assassin - Antivan Crows do not just _happen_ to be in the same area as you, and if this incident wasn't an indication that they _should not_ go to Denerim, Alistair didn't know what would be. His eyes darted back and forth between Anouk and the elven assassin, cut down from the tree but still bound before them, having just offered his services to _her_.

"You must think me incredibly dimwitted," Anouk told the assassin flatly.

Alistair watched as Zevran's eyes raked the length of Anouk's form slowly as though he was committing every sweep of her slender curves to memory. "I think you are incredibly strong willed to have escaped my trap only to return in time and trap me yourself, most would have blacked out from the pain. And you are also utterly gorgeous. Not that I think flattery is going to help my cause!" He laughed, "but there are worse things than serving the whims of an exotic and deadly sex goddess."

Alistair hated him already.

Anouk crossed her arms over her chest, but whether in thought or to hide the fact that her breathing was labored, Alistair didn't know. She had lost a good amount of blood and shouldn't have been standing yet, but Anouk was nothing if not stubborn. Alistair was keeping an eye on her as much as he was Zevran, waiting for the signs that she was going to faint - sweat was already beading on her brow, and her face had lost much of its color, next would be the violent fluttering of her lashes before she collapsed.

"Just what do you want in return for your _generous_ offer?" Anouk wondered, laden with sarcasm.

Zevran's eyes went skyward as he considered. "Well… being allowed to live would be nice, and would also make me marginally more useful to you, and somewhere down the line if you decide that you have no need of me, I go on my way. Until then I am yours. Is that fair?"

"Why would I want your services, when, as you have already witnessed, I am perfectly capable of watching out for myself and those who follow me."

"Ah," Zevran said, "this is true. But I could also warn you should the Crows try something more sophisticated now that my own attempt as failed. Or… I could just stand around and look pretty if you prefer. Warm your bed?" Then his gaze slid over to Alistair as a lurid grin spread across his face and Alistair felt his ears go red as the assassin said, "Fend off unwanted suitors?"

"So what's it to be?" Zevran continued turning his attention back to Anouk. "I guarantee you will not find a better deal elsewhere!"

Anouk continued to consider Zevran and like so many other times before, there was something in her eyes that Alistair could not read. But she was taking too long to answer. Alistair sputtered, utterly flabbergasted as the realization nearly bowled him over.

"You're not _actually_ considering this? You want to take the _assassin_ with us now?" he cried.

Wincing, Anouk shifted her weight to her uninjured leg but did not give Alistair her attention. "I've become quite the collector of cast-offs, so far." She sighed, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead, "We shall see what Dmitri says. Now that Zevran is conscious let us return to camp before Dmitri pulls his hair out from worry, yes?"

She turned, took a step and staggered, her legs seeming to go boneless all of a sudden. But Alistair had been ready for it, he darted forward, hand clamping firmly around Anouk's elbow to steady her and he was sure that she was going to collapse right there into his arms, but Anouk straightened suddenly.

"You should rest, we can go back to camp after you've had a bit to recoup," Alistair said against the side of her face and around the sudden panic lodged in his throat.

Anouk shook her head weakly. "_Tla_. We are not more than two miles from camp, I will be fine. Besides, it is nearly nightfall, we do not have the equipment to camp here and I do not relish the idea of hiking through the woods in the night."

"Anouk -"

"I am _fine_, Alistair." Then abruptly, Anouk sighed and her frame slumped even further against him. Alistair felt his heart in his throat thinking that she finally had fainted, but her head lifted and she said, "I just want to return to camp."

He considered only one good thing about them returning to camp immediately. "Will you let Morrigan look at your leg if we go back now?" Alistair wondered. Morrigan was probably the only one of them who could get Anouk to sit still long enough to bite back her bitter complaints as the witch examined and properly tended to her leg.

Reluctantly, Anouk nodded. "Yes."

"Alright," Alistair said. And with that, lifted Anouk's arm and slung her over his shoulder.

"_Gah doe hah dul nee!_" she shouted. He could only imagine the look on her face and tried not to laugh because he rather liked where his head was located. "Set me down!"

Alistair ignored her knowing perfectly well that she was in no condition to truly fight him, weakened by blood loss as she was. Instead, he turned to Zevran. "Let's go."

Zevran rose to his feet, holding out his still bound wrists toward Alistair. "Am I to remain bound?"

"Until we reach camp where there are more people who can keep an eye on you?" Alistair said. "Yes."

.

.

By the time they reached camp night had officially fallen and Anouk had long since given up her protests to being unceremoniously thrown across Alistair's shoulder like a sheaf of wheat. Zevran stalked along behind them, though it made Alistair nervous and he had constantly thrown wary glances over his shoulder to make sure the elf was still following, if nothing else.

Dmitri was not pleased when they returned to camp, which did not surprise Alistair at all. They had found Dmitri pacing around the camp feverishly, loudly insisting that something must have happened to him and Anouk because they were taking too damn long. Leliana was not far from him, oiling her bow and trying to placate him though even Alistair could see that she didn't believe what she was saying. Alistair made a point to announce their arrival loudly, making his footsteps heavier than normal, coughing unsurely.

Alistair set Anouk back on her feet, ignoring the scowl she sent his way as Dmitri stormed over to them, demanding to know where they'd been, Leliana hot on his heels while Sten looked on. "Ask the Antivan Crow," Anouk said, shifting all of her weight onto her uninjured leg. "Though I admit, I do not know what that is."

"I can answer that!" Leliana said, brightly sidling up beside Dmitri. "They are an order of assassins out of Antiva, they're known for always getting the job done… so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire him," she finished, giving Zevran a once-over.

"I see." Anouk said with a nod. Then she sighed heavily, "In any case, he will be joining us for the remainder of our travels. Leliana if you would please see that Zevran gets something to eat."

"Certainly," the redhead replied, motioning for the elf to follow her. "Welcome Zevran, I think having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan."

As the lay sister and assassin walked away, Zevran's laugh carried back to them. "Oh? And you are another companion-to-be then? I was no aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers!"

Once they were out of hearing range, Dmitri rounded on Anouk. "Are you insane? Did the blight sickness addle your mind? He is an assassin, likely hired by Loghain to _kill_ us and now you want him to travel with us? Surely you don't honestly think we can trust him!"

Anouk shook her head. "Not yet at least," is all she said on the matter. "Alistair, take the first watch of the night," she then said, and just as he was stuttering out a refusal because he was _exhausted_, Anouk silenced him with a look before limping over to Morrigan's side of the camp.

As she passed Sten, Alistair saw the giant take a breath to say something to her, but to his surprise Anouk paused and over the distance he heard her say, "Not now, Sten. Please."

Dmitri released a frustrated sound from the back of his throat and his hands buried themselves in his hair. He swallowed whatever he wanted to say though and turned away from Alistair, stomping his way back across the camp. And all of this suddenly made Alistair wonder - what did Anouk see in others that he apparently could not.

.

.

When Alistair's soft snores filled the night air, the assassin began to put his contingency plan into motion. Zevran was not surprised that the ex-Templar lost his battle against the sleep that had been trying to claim him. What did surprise Zevran however, was that Anouk made him take the first watch even after what the two of them had been through that day.

Not that he was going to complain.

He laid awake for a moment before moving, listening to sounds of the camp that had fallen silent some time ago. Under the bright light of the moon, Zevran heard the noises of sleep all around him and the sound of leaves in the midnight breeze. How easily they let down their guard while they harbored a viper in their midst.

Shifting to an upright position, Zevran looked over to where Alistair was slumped against his pack, the dying firelight flickering over the angles of his handsome face. It was going to pain Zevran greatly to destroy something so lovely, but such sacrifices had to be made in an assassin's line of work. The tents around him were dark and silent and even across the camp, the witch was turned away from her own dying fire in sleep.

Zevran had not expected Anouk to accept the offer of his services, not at all. He always expected that if he had been well and truly taken alive by a target, all attempts to bargain for his life would fall on deaf ears and that he would be wearing a bloody smile by the end. This time it was what he had been hoping for. But for all the rumors, the Warden appeared to not be a creature driven by her more base instincts because despite whatever her conscience was telling her, she allowed Zevran to live.

_The next contract, perhaps,_ he thought with a rueful shake of his head.

Reaching into his boot, Zevran removed the small dagger he had hidden there, no longer than his hand but wickedly sharp and the blade winked in the firelight; it would do the job just fine. Killing targets in their sleep was not Zevran's favorite method of taking life because he took a certain sadistic pleasure watching the knowledge that he held his target's life in his hands fill their eyes, but now it would have it's benefits. Quiet as he was, Zevran could have them gasping their last breaths without raising alarm, but the utter surprise in their expressions as he felt their pulse become still beneath his fingers would be just as sweet.

Zevran crept toward Alistair carefully and he could feel the familiar thrill building in the pit of his stomach, knowing that in a matter of another few moments the assassin would own Alistair's life. _How best to accomplish this_? Zevran wondered, hovering over Alistair's sleeping form. A quick, powerful thrust into the gap on the side of his armor, through the ribs and into his heart? Or perhaps a single, heavy drag from ear to ear across his throat? Either way, Alistair's life would be forfeit before he even realized what was happening and he would move on to the next Warden.

Having made his decision, Zevran felt a smile slide across his face as he leveled his blade for a quick kill and -

_Thwack!_

A shockwave of pain and Zevran scrambled back in shock, biting his tongue against the shout roaring inside his head. He swiveled his head around, catching sight of Anouk in time to see her drop out of a tree at the edge of the clearing holding her now empty bow. _An impressive_ _shot_, Zevran mused, turning to the arrow shot through the palm of his right hand. No longer limping, he watched Anouk languidly cross the distance between them and even now admiring the shift of the oversized shirt along her curves and play of moonlight against the length of her legs.

"You understand I am going to be useless to you for weeks," he joked weakly, raising his hand.

She said nothing, merely arched an eyebrow and crouched to her haunches before him. She roughly seized his hand earning a hiss from him and thought he saw a smirk curl up one corner of her shapely mouth at his pain. Anouk snapped the arrow a few inches above his hand and Zevran once again had to swallow the cry of pain as she ripped it out, slicking her hands and her exposed thighs with his blood.

Anouk shook her head as she examined the hole through the center of his hand. "You must think I am truly a fool," she finally said, but there was no anger in her voice as he thought there should have been. Did she not just catch him trying to kill one of her fellow Wardens?

"Clearly I was mistaken," Zevran said, his voice low somehow unable to meet her gaze.

Anouk sighed and rose to her feet, crossing to Alistair so she could wake him. As the ex-Templar woke, Zevran felt his heart skitter across his chest in what couldn't rightfully be called panic. Now would Anouk take his life, was she waking Alistair to back her up in case he fought her? But all she did was tell Alistair that she was taking over his watch and to go get some sleep. Bleary eyed, Alistair didn't even pay attention to Zevran as he staggered to his tent and collapsed into it. She was allowing herself to be alone with him, but even with one good hand and her unarmored it wouldn't be impossible for him to overpower her. Difficult surely, but not impossible.

"Was that truly wise, do you think?" Zevran wondered.

"As you said, you are going to be useless to me for weeks with that had," she said plainly, picking up Alistair's kit and coming back to sit before him.

She was going to let him live again, allow him to travel with her companions even now?

"Why do you not kill me?" he demanded, the half-plea coloring his tone pathetically.

Anouk took his hand once again and began to tend to the wound she had caused. Her thin fingers grazed along his wrist as she wound the bandage around his hand, considering his inquiry. "Because it is what you want," she finally replied, her voice soft as a sigh. "I know the tone of a liar's voice, Zevran. I also know the eyes of men who bargain for their lives wishing for it to be denied and the sound of the platitudes that follow when it is accepted."

Zevran didn't know what to say. She _knew_. Somehow Anouk knew that Zevran had not expected to survive this contract, knew that he wished for death and yet kept it from him. _For what purpose_, he wondered almost angrily. Who was she to deny him the death he wished for?

Anouk's eyes drifted up to his when she finished bandaging his hand and Zevran felt his chest tighten uncomfortably at what she allowed him to see there. For as beautiful as Anouk was, the same flatness Zevran saw in the eyes of his own reflection was there in hers and for a moment they seemed more grey than green. Zevran knew instantly that in a way, she was like him - denied a death she wished for, forced to continue a hollow existence; but unlike him, Anouk had found a purpose with the Wardens, with protecting those she kept close.

And all at once, Zevran realized that by letting him travel with her, Anouk was trying to give that to him as well.

"I know that you do not see it as one, but do not make me regret this kindness, Zevran," Anouk said, the warning hedging her tone enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. All the emptiness was gone from her eyes now and they were bright, seemed to glow with the dying embers of the fire, leveling him with the intensity of her gaze. There was the same fierceness about her as she had in the woods not too long ago that had intrigued him, all the shadows that played on her face chased away by determination.

"I will give you the night to think things through, and if you are gone by morning then I will not expect to see you again. If you remain, then you remain, but I am warning you - though I will take no pleasure in it, I _will_ kill you if I must." Of this she was utterly confident.

He watched her eyes soften then. "Please do not force me to make that choice," she said, but Zevran couldn't understand why it mattered to her if she killed him.

Zevran's mouth had gone dry and for all his eloquence found that, for once, he had no words. So instead he nodded, accepting the terms she presented him with. Anouk gave him one last searching look before she rose to her feet and retreated to her own tent.

Who was this woman the Maker had seen fit to drop into his life?

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, late I know! I'm sorry. : **

**I am on a roll though, updated my HP fic (finally)  
>posted a new ME fic, finished an ME two shot<br>and posted this all within like two weeks! **

**Uhm, I'm not sure if I'm going to do another  
>companion's POV later in the story... I haven't<br>thought about it yet and did Zevran's on a whim. **

**Thank you to TsukizuNya, olivegbg, and Yuki-sama12  
>for reviewing the last chapter! You guys are great! But<br>where did everyone else go? :( **

**Translations: **

**Gah doe hah dul nee! - What are you doing! **

**See you next chapter! **

**-(gxr)-**


	19. XIX

**Wilder**

.

.

**XIX**

.

.

The next morning, Anouk had to admit that she was surprised to see Zevran still sitting in the place where she'd left him the previous night. Part of her had been so sure he would leave after their confrontation. Anouk herself probably would not have stayed after having a stranger see through her actions and motivations so easily. But what Anouk didn't know was if Zevran remained because he wished to in earnest, or if he was simply biding his time until he would force her hand to fulfill the promise she'd made to him by the light of the fire. If it was the latter, Anouk only hoped that in the interim Zevran would come to change his mind.

Did Anouk think that she could trust him? Not entirely, but she could see that the potential was there. Until that time, Anouk would watch him closely. Night watches would have to be doubled until she was sure that Zevran could be fully trusted because she had already shown her own hand the night before by hiding in the trees – he would expect it the next time when and if he tried to kill them in the night.

"Is there a reason you are staring at me, my dear Warden, or are you simply enjoying the view?"

Anouk blinked, refocusing her gaze to find Zevran grinning cheekily over his shoulder at her. She took a deep breath before crossing the distance between them, Zevran rising to his feet to meet her as she did. "You stayed," she stated, managing to keep the surprise from her tone.

A rueful smile quirked up the corners of Zevran's mouth. "You must have known that I would," he replied. "Who can deny such an offer when a beautiful woman makes such a tempting proposal?"

Anouk nodded, slanting her arms over her chest. "I meant what I said Zevran, I am not in the habit of lying. I will not keep you here if you do not wish to be."

"Ah," he said with a nod of his own, "but you gave me the night to think things through, and think I have; it is already the morning and yet I remain… the terms you presented me with were that if I was still here by morning then I could stay, were they not?"

_Clever, this one is_, Anouk thought, unable to smother the smile that pulled her lips up. "Very well, Zevran. Just remember one thing as you travel with us: you _chose_ to stay."

His eyes lit up as his grin stretched wider. "Marvelous! Then allow me to make it official: I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you and until such a time as you see fit to release me from it, I am your man without reservations, this I swear."

And then with a flourish, Zevran arched out his left arm, crossed his right over his chest and dropped gracefully into a low bow before her.

**.**

**.**

Bounty hunters finally caught up to them two days outside of Denerim. It was a messy fight, drawn out for far longer than it should have because the bounty hunters were just good enough to keep themselves alive even after they realized that they were out of their league. By the end of the fight, Anouk and her companions stood amid the bodies for a moment shaking their heads; it seemed such a waste because there was no true need for the bounty hunters to have died. If they had surrendered and let them go on their way, the bounty hunters could have walked away with their lives but the amount of coin on Anouk, Alistair and Dmitri's heads was enough to make even sensible men desperate.

They searched the bodies, taking the usable crafting materials, poultices and coin but left them with their dignity – armed and armored. Then they began to move the bodies from the road, concealing them in the woods and kicking up dirt and grass to cover the blood that stained the ground. Leliana was the one who discovered just how the bounty hunters knew who they were - in one of the bounty hunters' packs she found copies of the bounty fliers.

Luckily enough, the posters showed that both Dmitri and Alistair were clean shaven, but in the weeks since leaving Redcliffe both men had developed short trimmed facial hair. Loghain, who had probably assisted in the rendering of the images pictured Alistair as looking so much like Cailan that the picture could have been mistaken for the late King while Dmitri's portrait looked nearly nothing like him. And while Anouk's poster didn't look much like her regarding her features either, the image showed charms and baubles woven into her hair, mentioned that she was Chasind and possessed a description of the tattoo on her arm.

And that was the reason Anouk found herself sitting in front of Leliana when they made camp, digging her fingernails into her calf as the lay sister attempted to undo the braids and take out the many charms and feathers woven into her hair. Across the way, Zevran was assisting Bodahn and Dmitri as they forged documents that would allow them entrance into Denerim. Given their limited resources the documents probably wouldn't pass a thorough examination, but the quick glance any guard at the gate would give would confirm that Bodahn possessed a permit to sell his wares within the city walls, the women were his assistants and the men his bodyguards.

"_Ayo!_" Anouk exclaimed, pulling her head violently away from Leliana's combing fingers. She wasn't sure how much more she could take, a headache was already pressing against her skull only compounded by Leliana's constant pulling, but more than half of the charms and beads were already out of her hair, spread in front of Anouk on a miscellaneous piece of cloth.

"Oh, I'm sorry! If your hair was not so thick…you have never taken these charms out?"

Anouk shook her head. "No. They are part of our culture, tokens of affection or accomplishment, they are not just for decoration. And I do not fully understand why they must come out."

"You look Chasind," Alistair commented from his position stirring the stew that Leliana had started.

Anouk rolled her eyes. "Would it surprise you to learn that I _am_ Chasind?"

"Yes, but given the bounty on your head we have to get you into Denerim without anyone realizing you are Chasind. Your hair and skin are _just_ dark enough that we can pass you for a Rivaini who has been in Ferelden for a while and if someone tries to talk to you we will simply tell them that you do not speak the common tongue," Leliana explained. "And once we leave Denerim, I will help you put all of the charms back in your hair."

At the mention of Denerim, Anouk felt her stomach clench with nerves. She was not thrilled about going to grasslanders' capital city, in fact she would have preferred to stay outside the city with Bodahn's caravan perfectly content to set up a camp and wait for Dmitri and Alistair to come out to tell her where they were headed next. After Ostagar, Anouk had her fill of places crowded with Fereldens and somehow Denerim seemed like it was going to be worse than Ostagar. In the ruins there were commanding officers, her Grey Warden status, and everyone's deep seeded aversion to the Chasind to protect her from the worst of the abuse she endured.

There would be none of that in Denerim. If anyone learned that she was a Grey Warden they would likely attempt to collect the bounty placed on her head and Anouk would have to answer their attempt with extreme force. The fact that she was Chasind only made that realization worse – a Chasind killing a Ferelden never ended well for her peoples' villages regardless if it was in self-defense or premeditated. She didn't know if she could maintain her emotional neutrality in a _city_ full of people would hated her and her kind.

"How long will we be in Denerim?" Anouk ventured to wonder.

With a sigh, Alistair shook his head. "Not sure, we'll have to go through Genetivi's research, assuming of course that he didn't take the very documents we need to find him or the Ashes."

_That does not sound promising_, Anouk thought, wincing as she felt Leliana tug with a bit too much force.

Perhaps she would not have such an ill feeling about going to Denerim if she could actually be of some help when it came time to scour through the Brother's research. Leliana may have been teaching Anouk how to read, but their lessons had only been going on for the last two weeks – she could only recognize the Common letters that corresponded with her own language, a long way from being able to glean pertinent information from someone's research. She, Sten and Morrigan would be absolutely useless while Dmitri, Leliana, Alistair and Zevran looked through the research with nothing to occupy themselves with in that time.

"Alright, I'm finished, you just need to brush through it," Leliana announced, holding out her hairbrush to Anouk.

At Bodahn's caravan, Dmitri turned around, his eyes finding Leliana. "Lel, we need your help! Your handwriting's the best!"

"Of course!" she called back and Anouk felt Leliana's presence disappear from behind her.

Anouk watched Leliana flounce over to the group of men while she examined the brush she'd been handed. Her head felt odd, not just because of the headache pulsing across her scalp, but lighter without the weight of the adornments. The charms and beads and feathers that had been woven into her hair had, over the course of her adult life, become such a part of her that she had never imagined _not_ having them because she had never given thought to being without them. She brushed through her hair, gritting her teeth when she heard the brush pull through a mass of tangles, feeling the ends settle against her thighs.

"You will need a haircut, dear Warden," Zevran said, having apparently finished his part with the forged papers.

"Why?" Anouk demanded as Zevran took a seat very close to her, close enough that their thighs touched.

"If we are to pass you as a Rivaini, you will need your hair cut. Rivain women are very egotistical in regards to their hair – it is one of the traits they are well known for: soft as silk, luxurious hair..." Zevran reached out and fingered the ends of her hair, twisting the dry, frayed ends through and around the tips of his fingers. And Anouk was aware that Alistair was watching every move Zevran made with a scrutinizing glare, the lines around his mouth tightened in irritation.

"A true Rivaini woman would not allow her hair to fall into such disrepair, you will need several inches removed."

Anouk clenched her jaw. "Just do it."

When Zevran was finished, Anouk's hair rested just under her breasts in a tumble of waves. She ran her fingers through the shortened lengths of her hair, her mouth twisted in displeasure. Even though her hair was still long, Anouk's hair had not been quite so short in a long while. Yet another thing that her companions would not understand about her culture. And as she played with her hair, Anouk tried to push away the nagging thought that no one would truly appreciate the sacrifices of culture she'd made since becoming a Grey Warden nor the sacrifices that she would have to continue to make.

"It will grow back," Alistair assured her, pulling her from her thoughts.

Her eyes darted to his and Anouk could see the pucker between his eyebrows as he watched her. Could he so easily see the agitation she felt?

"I know that," she answered. "But among my people, hair length is a sign of seniority, of adulthood. When I returned from my _Signum_ my hair was sheared off completely – part of the ritual before I received my _signa_ and another mark of coming into adulthood. Short hair is meant for the male hunters and warriors and for girls who have not yet had their first cycle. For a woman to have short hair is a sign that she is still a child in some way, but when a woman in the tribe marries, the other women of marriageable age cut their hair in tribute so that her husband's attentions do not wander."

"So it's been a long time since you've cut your hair?" he asked.

Anouk nodded. "Yes."

"Well, for what it's worth, it- …it looks nice," Alistair told her with a smile and a flush that mottled his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

Even if she tried, Anouk would not have been able to stop her answering smile. "Thank you, Alistair."

**.**

**.**

The forged papers got their group into Denerim with more ease than Anouk expected, but that might have had more to do with the harassed looking guard than the quality of the forgery. And the city was not what Anouk was expecting… it was somehow worse. With the Blight ravaging the southern part of the country, the people fled north to port cities like Denerim hoping to find asylum and a ship out of the country. Anouk could not take five steps without bumping into someone or having someone push past her, and the press of the crowd set her teeth on edge. It made her thankful that Morrigan had decided to come into the city late in the night by her own means because the witch would truly not have appreciated the sea of people around them.

They followed Bodahn through the market to the spot the forged permit indicated and luckily there was not another stall already set up there. Dmitri and Sten went to see if there were any rooms available at the inns and taverns while Leliana elected to stay with Bodahn and help him set up the stall and his wares. This left Anouk, Alistair and Zevran to seek out Genitivi's home.

Anouk let Alistair lead the way to the Brother's house since she had no idea where she was going – all of the streets and alleyways looked bleakly identical and under the shadows of the towering buildings, she felt smothered. And unfortunately, Anouk realized that the only thing she could do about it was _breathe_ and beg the Great Spirit that they would finish their task swiftly.

"I think this is it," Alistair said, looking up from the piece of parchment in his hand at the blank door before him.

Surprisingly, Brother Genitivi lived across the street from the tavern and the music from inside drifted through the already noisy alley, echoing inside Anouk's head while the smoke from pipes curled up her noise and coiled into the sky. There was no identifying marks on the door or the surrounding frame, and they all hesitated, unsure whether to knock. Anouk felt the few tavern-goers behind her shifting and murmuring about them, curiosity tinting their words because she knew how suspicious they looked armed to the teeth outside the man's home.

"Open the door, Alistair," Anouk hissed, lowly.

"What if it's locked?"

"Open the door!"

He did, finding that it wasn't locked and the three of them crowded into the small home. When the door clicked behind her, Anouk released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The Brother's home was small making the heat given off by the hearth stifling and beside her, Anouk heard Zevran sniff audibly, seeing his nose crinkle out of the corner of her eye. There were books and parchment on nearly every surface, piles tucked into the corners, littering the floor, stacked on empty chairs. Anouk's heart dropped seeing it all – if it was all research regarding The Urn of Sacred Ashes, they were going to be in Denerim for a while.

"Hello?" Alistair called out.

There was a shuffle of movement from the back room before a thin, dark haired man walked into the room, closing the door behind him. "Yes?" He said, "Can I help you with something?"

"Are you… Brother Genitivi?" Alistair wondered.

The man shook his head. "Oh no, I'm Weylon, Brother Genitivi's assistant."

Zevran moved from Anouk's side, taking a few cautionary steps to see if Weylon would stop him, but all he did was give the elf a curious look and ignore him. Anouk watched Zevran and there was a tension in the way he moved, slowly but it was as if he was trying to figure something out, like something was out of place in the room. Anouk suspected that because Zevran didn't touch anything, didn't attempt to pry that Weylon allowed him to look around.

"Do you know where he is?" she asked then, dividing her attention between Weylon and her companion.

"Please don't ask me that," he said, holding up a hand. "I haven't seen Brother Genitivi in weeks, I'm afraid his research into the Urn may have led to something horrible, I don't want you to fall victim to the same fate."

"Why do you say that?" Anouk asked.

The man sighed and crossed his arms. "Perhaps the Urn has been lost for a reason! I… I tried to send help, there were some knights from Redcliffe and I sent them after Genitivi but they too have disappeared!"

Zevran's eyes darted up and met hers – he picked up on it too, apparently. In a few languid strides, Zevran was back at Anouk's side apparently having confirmed whatever suspicions he'd had. But Alistair hadn't noticed anything off from the way his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"How do you know the knights have disappeared?" Anouk demanded, trying hard to keep her voice even though it was difficult knowing that Weylon was lying to her.

Shock flickered across Weylon's face before blanking once again and his arms tightened over his chest defensively. "Well, they… they haven't returned and they've se-sent no word."

"… And why would they send word to you, I wonder?" Zevran asked next. "Had you become particularly close to them in the time they were here?"

Once again the man startled – he must've had an easier time getting rid of the knights. An annoyed flush was beginning to bloom on Weylon's cheeks and his eyes narrowed. Anouk felt Zevran shift beside her, his hand immediately resting on one of his daggers, keeping his eyes on Weylon's own hands.

"I-I don't know! After what happened to Genitivi can you blame me for thinking the same thing could happen to the knights?" He waved a hand dismissively, turning his gaze from them. "Maybe I'm just a pessimist."

By now, Anouk's patience was wearing thin, not that it had been at full capacity after the walk through the crowded city, but this man was going to push her to her breaking point. "I am going to ask you one more time," she said, punctuating her words with small, measured steps toward Weylon. "Where did they go?"

"Fine!" Weylon sighed, throwing up his arms in defeat. "Before he left, Genitivi said that he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad, investigating something in that area."

"Lake Calenhad?" Alistair echoed. "What could he be investigating there?"

Weylon shrugged. "I don't know. All I discovered from going through his research was that he was staying at the inn."

"Did you not just say that Genitivi spoke to you and told you that he was staying at the inn?" Zevran asked, his voice all innocence.

Panic now shot through Weylon's eyes, widening and they darted around surely seeking an exit, but still offered an explanation. "Ye-yes! He told me that, but I also looked through his research to see if I could find any other information."

_Enough of this!_ Anouk thought. Her hand shot up like a lightning flash, closing around Weylon's neck as she shoved him against the wall, making sure his head made contact just for good measure. "Whoever sent you should have sent a better liar. Now tell me what I want to know and I may let you leave here with your life!"

And all at once the expression on Weylon's face changed. There was no panic, no shock, only a cold rage that darkened his eyes and twisted his expression into something hideous. An emotionless laugh broke across Anouk's face, but the man did not attempt to release himself from her grip.

"You just had to keep insisting, didn't you?" he sneered. "I gave you the chance to walk away."

Anouk realized her mistake too late, the air around her ignited with the electric feel of magic, she felt her skin pebble beneath the caress of magic. She heard Alistair swear, but he didn't cast his smite in time to stop Weylon from driving his Stonefist spell just below her ribs, shoving all the air from her lungs as she flew backwards. She hit the table in the center of the room, tumbling as it knocked over, sending parchment and books scattering and flitting to the floor. Her head cracked against the floor with a force that made Anouk feel as though her teeth had been knocked from her mouth.

The last thought that she had before the darkness took over was that she hated Denerim already.

* * *

><p><strong>I was trying to get this out sooner, but this chapter<br>decided to give me complications. :/**

**Translations: **

_**Ayo! - **_**Ouch!**

**Thank you Amanda, tardisgater and Yuki-sama12  
>for reviewing the last chapter!<strong>

**Review, please? :D**

**-(gxr)-**


	20. XX

**Wilder**

.

.

**XX**

.

.

Anouk shook off the coil of unconsciousness leaving the Archdemon's screams echoing in her head. She didn't move for a long time, staring at the wooden ceiling above her and focused on her breathing. The air in the room smelled wrong, stale and like something had been left to rot. She gathered that a few of her ribs must at least be bruised, if not broken from the blow Weylon's spell delivered given the amount of pain Anouk was experiencing. Deciding to test this theory, Anouk tenderly pressed her fingertips to her ribs, gritting her teeth against the lancing pain and the sudden tears finding at least two injured ribs.

The rattling of the door handle echoed through the room, allowing the noise and conversation from the other room to drift in through the crack. "I am only going to see if she has woken up," Leliana assured someone as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, drowning the room in silence once again until Leliana moved again.

"Anouk, are you awake?" Leliana said into the silence as she lightly padded across the room.

"Yes," Anouk replied and struggled to sit herself against the wall behind the bed.

"You should not be moving!" Leliana scolded her, but rushed to the side of the bed hooking her arms under Anouk's to help.

Once Anouk was comfortably in a seated position, Leliana sat herself on the edge of the bed. "What happened?" Anouk demanded.

Although Leliana was not there, she informed Anouk that the mage was not Weylon. After being cleanly dispatched, Alistair and Zevran found the body of the real Weylon stuffed into a trunk in the very room they were in now. "Weylon" must not have known what to do with the body or how to go about disposing of it and so kept it hidden which explained why the room smelled the way it did. Being more experienced with dead bodies, the task of disposing of the two bodies was left to Zevran. Dmitri and Sten found them in the Brother's home and explained that because of the mass exodus from the Blight lands, all of the taverns and inns were full so for the remainder of their time in Denerim they would have to share Brother Genitivi's humble home.

Anouk's head fell back against the wall behind her. "How long are we going to be here?" she demanded, trying not to let her displeasure color her tone.

Leliana shook her head. "I do not know. From what we have been able to tell in the few hours we have been here, the fake Weylon set about burning any relevant research that could have led us to Genitivi, it will take some time to sort through the remainder of his research."

"What about the inn? The mage mentioned that the Brother was staying at an inn near the lake."

"I know, but there are quite a few inns near Lake Calenhad, we'll waste time checking at all of them," Leliana told her.

"We are wasting time here!" Anouk snapped, and immediately regretted it when a jolt of pain made her groan. She grit her teeth against the tensing of her stomach muscle as she tapped her head against the wall.

Leliana's hand came down lightly on Anouk's shoulder and the lay sister smiled sadly at her. "I know you do not want to be here, it is far outside your comfort zone I'm sure, but I promise we will try to be swift. And, Genitivi has quite a collection of books, it will give us an opportunity to continue your reading lessons."

At least Anouk had something to look forward to, but still the idea of staying in Denerim for more than a few days does not sit well with her. Mostly it was the idea that Anouk probably could not venture outside of the house without one of her companions. Zevran had warned her that all it would take was a well-traveled merchant or solider, a knowledgeable guard or scholar to realize that her looks were just a little _too_ exotic to be that of a Rivaini woman, that her accent was too harsh. She was too be stuck in this tiny home for who knew how long, bored to the point of insanity no doubt.

_Am I not the one that leadership was thrust upon?_ She wondered crossly. _No, I am only the one to make the unsavory choices no one else wishes to. _

A terse knock on the door preceded Morrigan letting herself into the room. "I see you have indeed regained consciousness," the witch quipped. She closed the door behind her, carrying a small tin cup in her hand.

Leliana rose from the edge of the bed. "I will leave you to tend to her, Morrigan," the lay sister said and casting a smile to Anouk told her, "I promise Denerim will not be so horrible, you may even come to enjoy yourself."

Anouk managed to subdue her answering grunt as Leliana left the room. Morrigan crossed the small distance, placing the cup on the bedside table. "Come, let us see what you have done to yourself this time," she instructed, taking the place Leliana previously occupied.

Haltingly, Anouk managed to lift the tunic over her head though she had to stop every few moments to catch her breath when the stretching sent a pulse of pain through her torso. She did not expect any help from Morrigan and nor did she receive any, the witch watching her struggle with patience, only moving once Anouk lowered her arms once again. Morrigan instructed Anouk to lift her arm so she could inspect her ribs, and she held back the violent string of curses playing themselves through her mind as Morrigan pressed and prodded with more force than Anouk herself had dared.

"I heard what happened," Morrigan said casually as she inspected Anouk's other side. "This is your own fault I hope you are aware; it would behoove you to learn some patience, I think, lest more of your hasty actions lead you to an early grave."

"Is that concern I hear, Morrigan?"

"Hardly!" she laughed. "But you cannot just go about threatening whomever you wish without the expectation that they will reciprocate." She sighed and leaned back. "It is as I thought: one broken, two cracked." Then she turned to the cup and presented it to her, "Drink this," she commanded. "You will drink another in the morning."

Anouk took the cup. "What would you have me do then, Morrigan? These people… these grasslanders they speak in circles, aim to deceive and I do not have the head for it, nor the time to endure it," she told her, downing the potion in one go when she finished speaking.

"I am well aware of your temperament," the witch replied, clearly remembering incidents from their short-lived childhood friendship when Anouk's patience was even thinner. "_Everyone_ lies, it is something you should learn and remember well. You _are_ Chasind, but you are not in the Wilds anymore, Anouk."

While Anouk thought it odd indeed that Morrigan was the one giving her this sort of advice, she kept her mouth shut. Part of her knew Morrigan was right, and while she wanted to throw her words back in her face, point out that the witch also was no longer in the Wilds, Anouk knew that it would only lead to a verbal lashing and one that she did not have the energy to answer. As circumstance continued to remind her seemingly out of spite, Anouk was a Grey Warden now and her life in the Wilds was over, she could not, or more accurately would not return to them. Morrigan was different, for whatever reason Flemeth sent her with them, after the Blight Morrigan would likely return to the Wilds so there was no need for her to change her attitude, not that Anouk imagined she would even if she did not return to the Wilds.

"Think on what I have said," Morrigan told her as she rose to her feet and left.

.

.

With the help of Morrigan's elfroot potion, Anouk was back on her feet the next day and gathered with the others in the main room so Leliana could divvy up the research they had to sort through. At least Leliana had enough sense to bypass Anouk, Sten and Morrigan, handing rather large piles to Alistair, Zevran and Dmitri.

Dmitri stood from his chair. "Actually, I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help. I'm not a very religious person."

Leliana's eyebrows scrunched together. "But you had religious schooling, did you not, and you studied history? You know the Chant of Light."

He nodded and replied, "Of course I did, and of course I do, but to be honest I slept through most of my lessons. And I'd probably fall asleep reading this too."

To the apparent surprise of everyone but Anouk, Zevran sighed and held out his hand. "I will take them."

"You?" Alistair blurted out with a startled laugh.

Zevran turned to the Templar with a questioning gaze. "Why are you surprised? I happen to be a very religious person."

Alistair stammered for words, obviously confused and Anouk resisted the urge to smile. "But… you're an assassin! You kill people for a living!"

The elf crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Somehow Anouk was under the impression that this was not the first time Zevran has had this conversation with someone. "Yes, and I pray to the Maker for every life I take and ask His forgiveness with each kill. Do not judge me simply because I sin differently from you," he told Alistair, the words without inflection.

Anouk had thought she wasn't the _only_ one who had witnessed Zevran pray over the bandits they had killed a few days ago, but apparently she had been. Admittedly, it surprised her at first, watching him cross to the hidden bodies and she had only watched him because Anouk had been _sure_ he was going to loot one of them and was ready to scold him. But when he crouched down before one, she immediately stopped when she realized he had taken the same position Isolde had in Redcliffe, the same position she'd seen the soldiers in Ostagar take before a battle. But Zevran's way about it was different, not desperate like Isolde's praying, nor fearful like the soldiers'… it was what Anouk imagined praying to their Maker was supposed to look like: humbling.

Zevran had been understandably surprised when he stood and saw Anouk standing there, watching him. Neither had offered the other an explanation, and Zevran had been the first to make a move, casting his gaze down and inclining his head toward her. She'd returned the nod now remembering the small smile that had crossed her face before she turned and left him realizing that an understanding had passed between them.

"… But you ask for forgiveness and go right on with your sinning!" Alistair cried, shaking Anouk from her reverie.

Zevran sent him a sidelong glance. "The Maker has never complained, why should you?" he said slowly.

Alistair shook his head, the expression on his face more surprise than anything else and said, "I… don't know."

Dmitri clapped his hands. "Well, now that's settled, I'm going to the Chanter's Board since we're going to be here for a while. Anouk, Sten, Morrigan, would you like to come?"

Morrigan scoffed. "You are a fool if you think for a moment that I am going to stay in this city. I will return before the city gates close for the night," she replied before pushing herself off the wall and moving past Dmitri.

Without a word, Sten gathered up his greatsword and Anouk latched her hatchets around her waist. Alistair stood from his seat, startled that Anouk was actually leaving. "Should you really be going, Anouk? You're still injured!"

True enough, if Anouk was not careful of her movements her ribs would remind her they were hurt with a starburst of pain that took her breath. But Anouk could not stay in the Brother's house all day with the shuffling of parchment, the silence of her companions as they read, only four walls of dull wood to stare at blankly. No, Anouk need to be outside and she was willing to compromise with being outside in the city that she already despised.

"I will be fine, I doubt the work the Chanter's Board offers will be too taxing." She replied, then added, "Besides what was it Dmitri said in Lothering? Oh yes… _Armies are expensive_."

Alistair was ready with another retort but before he could say anything, Sten grunted, "We are wasting time."

"Too true!" Dmitri affirmed with a nod. "We will be back before ten bells!"

.

.

The few tasks that the Chanter's Board offered, that were able to be completed within the city walls were simple enough and Anouk knew that Dmitri probably could have finished them on his own, but she appreciated that he had asked her and Sten to come along. And try and she may to ignore Sten's grumbling about the city, she couldn't because it was too funny. Where she looked at everything with a bit of wonder and gross apprehension, Sten viewed the city and its inhabitants with open confusion and irritation, especially when he nearly trampled a few children playing in the market.

Truthfully, it had surprised Anouk that they were able to move through the city unencumbered, but Dmitri had explained that it probably had more to do with Sten being with them than anything else as the guard and denizens had likely mistaken the three of them for mercenaries. It was not a comparison that Sten appreciated, saying that the qunari mercenaries were no longer true qunari, they were known among his people as _vashoth_, that they had abandoned the _Qun_.

"But are you not the same?" Anouk had asked of the giant. "We are hardly more than mercenaries right now, how do you differ from the ones you call '_vashoth_'?" The word was difficult for Anouk to get past her tongue, the syllables more harsh than her own language and she hadn't spoken it with the same disdain that Sten had.

"Because I have not abandoned the _Qun_, I will answer the question posed to me by the _Arishok_…" he trailed off and finished more quietly, "even if I cannot return."

"Why can you not return to your people?" she wondered.

But Sten shook his head. "_Parshaara_. Let us return to the task at hand."

When Sten walked ahead of them, Anouk felt slightly disappointed as she had hoped to learn more about the silent warrior who traveled with her.

They were headed back to the Brother's home earlier than expected as the sun had not yet even set and Anouk quietly lamented the fact that she would be returning to the small home so soon. But it hadn't been for nothing, as they had earned a fair amount of coin for the few deeds they accomplished so she was not _so_ disheartened.

They passed a small group of the city guard, nodding politely to the soldiers as they passed when suddenly Dmitri stopped and turned back around. "You know what, I've an idea!" he exclaimed, then brushed passed Anouk and Sten headed straight for the soldiers they had just passed.

"I thought we were meant to avoid the guard?" Sten deadpanned, but followed Dmitri nonetheless while Anouk swallowed down her rapid heart.

"Just trust me," he said over his shoulder.

"Yes?" the guard in front said, listlessly without looking up from the parchment in his hands. "Have you come to report another crime? I swear we should just cordon off the whole district." Then he looked up added, "Ah, I see. What can I do for you Wardens?"

Anouk thought her heart was going to jump through her chest and her hand immediately went to the hatchets strapped to her waist, cursing Dmitri in the back of her mind. She didn't really want to get into a fight with the city guard in the middle of the market district, but she wasn't about to let herself be taken without a fight either. If this city guardsmen and the few men with him were looking for a fight, looking to take the glory for arresting two of the Grey Wardens, well, Anouk was happy to oblige them.

The guard saw the sudden movements and held his hands in front of him. "Woah! Calm down, I'm not going to arrest you, I know who you are because your likeness was passed around to all the senior guardsmen, and I do have to say that they don't do either of you a bit of justice," he said. "And believe me, even I did believe the 'official' story of what happened at Ostagar, if I asked my men to apprehend you, they'd all run big sobby tears into their courtesan's bosoms and leave me to be skewered!"

He sighed dispassionately and added, "Just don't disturb the peace and that's well enough for me."

Slowly Anouk released her hold on her weapons and straightened her stance, ignoring the shimmer of amusement in Dmitri's eyes. "Is the district really that bad, Sergeant?" he asked.

The Sergeant cast a glance at the men behind him, and motioned for the three of them to follow him for a moment. He explained that ever since Ostagar the market district hadn't exactly been the Captain of the Guard's top priority and had moved the majority of the guard into the Palace District. Anouk choked back a scoff hearing this because surely it had something to do with Loghain fearing that the Wardens would come for him were they ever in Denerim. The Sergeant then went on a long tirade about how useless the men he was receiving were, and the whole thing was rather amusing if Anouk was being honest with herself, at least the Sergeants reactions were.

"Arl Howe's men are the worst of the lot though," Sergeant Kylon finally said, and Anouk felt Dmitri stiffen at the name. "Usually they're the men we have to arrest, or the one's committing the crimes they're meant to be stopping, and Maker forbid I have any of my men arrest them because then someone might get _hurt_ and I'd have to explain to their noble fathers that being a guard is actually _dangerous_."

And while it was probably Dmitri's intention the whole time, there was a conviction in his voice when he asked Sergeant Kylon, "Do you need any help?"

Anouk had a feeling that Dmitri was going to use the tasks Sergeant Kylon assigned them to send a message to Arl Howe.

* * *

><p><strong>I am sorry this is sosososososo late! And I'm sorry that<br>it was basically a filler chapter. **

**Life has gotten in my way too much lately.  
>CLIFF NOTES VERSION OF MY LIFE:<strong>

**- I GOT ENGAGED! Boyfriend proposed and it was lovely  
>and I am <em>so happy<em>. **

**- Remember a few updates ago I was talking about my boy's  
>grandmother and how sick she was? She passed away. <strong>

**- FAMILY DRAMA. STRESS. **

**- Boy is currently working on the enlistment process  
>for the Coast Guard. <strong>

**- My SCUMBAG BRAIN is coming up with new ideas for NEW  
>stories instead of keeping me inspired with the OLD ONES.<strong>

**And that's about it. **

**I want to thank everyone that has been keeping up with this  
>story while I've been away. It really means SO MUCH to me. <strong>

**Oh, one more thing! I was thinking about starting a tumblr. Thoughts?**

**Til next time**

**-(gxr)-**


	21. XXI

**Wilder**

.

.

**XXI**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS  
>SOME GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE<strong>

.

.

Alistair hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until the slamming of the door startled him awake. He sat up abruptly, nearly tipping his chair backwards in the process as he wiped the drool from his cheek. Embarrassingly enough, there was a large wet stain on the piece of parchment he'd fallen asleep reading. He was blearily aware that the figure that had stormed past the table was Anouk, and was fully awake when she slammed the door to the back bedroom. Alistair looked around at Leliana and Zevran, their confused expressions mirroring his own.

Given the state of his two companions, the shadows showing themselves under their eyes and the tired lines of their faces, Alistair was willing to bet that it was quite late in the day. The three of them had been at this all day, taking ten minute breaks in turns usually choosing to take a small stroll outside to stretch their legs and Leliana venturing out once to bring back something to eat. Somehow, they had gotten a good start on Genitivi's research, but despite the fact that the brother's research was clear and concise, Alistair's brain simply could not absorb any more information today - he was sure that if he tried to force any more research into his mind that his head would simply explode leaving gooey Grey Warden all over the walls.

A few minutes later the front door opened again as Dmitri and Sten strolled into the house, the former chuckling to himself as if someone told him a joke and he'd just understood the punch line while Sten didn't look one bit amused. Still laughing to himself, Dmitri shrugged his sword from his shoulder, leaning the massive weapon against the wall, Sten mirroring his actions a moment later.

"I do not think your fellow Warden finds the same humor in the situation as you do," Sten chided Dmitri.

Dmitri sighed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I know, and I shouldn't laugh, but really, did you see the look on Anouk's face? She looked so scandalized!" Dmitri replied, once again falling into a round of chuckles.

"And rightly so. You should not have taken her there," Sten commented. Then the giant released a quiet sigh, "I had thought that in this quest to defeat the Blight I might find some redeeming quality of this country to report back to the _Arishok_, so far there is none."

"What happened?" Leliana wondered.

"We went to the brothel," Sten answered, gruffly.

"What!?" Zevran cried, truly affronted. "And no one bothered to come fetch me!? For shame, Dmitri!"

"You took Anouk to the brothel?" Alistair demanded.

Anouk going to the brothel bothered Alistair more than it should have. It wasn't that Alistair feared she would partake of the debauchery that occurred within The Pearl, it was the way he knew she had been looked at. Alistair may have been schooled in an abbey and trained as a Templar, but he was not dead; Anouk was very easy on the eyes. The idea that the "workers" of the brothel didn't see the strong, confident warrior that Alistair had come to see in Anouk bothered him.

The door to the back bedroom opened once more as Anouk stormed out, having changed from her armor into a pair of wide legged breaches and a tunic. As she passed the table, she picked up a loaf of the bread Leliana had brought home with her earlier, then walked back out the door, slamming it shut behind her for good measure.

"Where is she going?" Dmitri wondered, as he turned to look at the closed door.

"Probably to the roof," Leliana replied with a sigh. "Genitivi had quite a lovely rooftop garden, Anouk and I have been going there for her reading lessons."

When Dmitri turned back around, he found all of his companions staring at him with disapproving expressions. "She was fine!" he cried. "… Until one of the workers propositioned her."

That's what Alistair was afraid of happening. With a sigh, Alistair pushed out his chair and rose to his feet. "I'll go talk to her," he offered.

Zevran rose as well. "Perhaps I should –"

"No! Definitely not," Alistair cut him off abruptly and Zevran sulked back into his seat. Zevran talking to Anouk about the brothel was probably the worst idea Alistair could think of. Although, the idea of Zevran coming back from the conversation bleeding and bruised was almost enough to make him change his mind.

As Alistair rounded the back of Genitivi's small home he couldn't help the hammering of his heart. He and Anouk were still not on the best of terms since Redcliffe and the two of them had not had time to really be alone to talk since then. He really did hate it, the distance he could feel between them while he watched Anouk and Dmitri grow closer with each passing day. She would go out of her way to talk to him, but tended to avoid Alistair like he had a plague. It was terribly frustrating, and if Alistair was wholly honest with himself, he was a little jealous. Why was he such a pariah to her?

When Alistair crested the top of the stairs, he found Anouk leaning against the low wall of the roof and the wind carried the sound of shifting parchment as she flipped through a book of some kind, though he didn't notice her leave with it. He looked around, Leliana was right, Genitivi did have quite a lovely rooftop garden, but the state of the plants was a testament to how long the brother had been gone. Many of the plants were in desperate need of care as many had overgrown and some were beginning to wilt and turn brown.

"Anouk?" he called out a little hesitantly.

Her eyes darted over her shoulder and she granted him a nod. "Hello Alistair."

_So far, so good_, he thought as he came to stand beside her; it didn't seem as though she had any intention of turning him away. She closed the book as he leaned against the low wall, holding it pressed between the palms of her hands. "Are… you okay? I know going to the, uh, brothel had to be… a shock."

To his surprise, Anouk snorted a laugh. "Sex is hardly a shock to me, Alistair."

Involuntarily, Alistair gulped. _Oh Maker, this is awkward. Maybe I should have let Zevran come up here_.

But she saved him from having to say anything when she continued, "I forget sometimes that grasslanders are more… open than my people, that's all." Chuckling, Anouk shook her head and said, "My oldest friend would have laughed himself sick if he could have seen me in that place…" she trailed off, and Alistair didn't miss the way her grip tightened on the book in her hands.

Once again, he saw the sadness overtake her, the droop in her usual proudly held shoulders. But like all the other times, it was gone as quickly as it had come, like a cloud had passed overhead and moved on. After another moment, Anouk shook her head and said, "Anyway, you are the one who looks like they have had a shock… I take it conversations about intimate acts were not part of your Templar training?"

Alistair let out a chuckle. "Oh no, they were, but it was more along the lines of if we so much as look at a woman the Maker would smite us in a blaze of righteous fury."

"And has he – your Maker I mean, has he…" Anouk trailed off, her mouth puckering as she tried to find the right word, "_smited_… anybody for looking?"

Anouk turned toward him then, and despite the fact that she had said it incorrectly, Alistair couldn't bring himself to correct her. She looked so lovely then, looking up at him from under her lashes, with the light from the setting sun cast across her dusky skin. Alistair knew though, she had asked to try and get the better of him like she seemed so skilled at doing.

He wasn't going to let her this time.

Feeling oddly brave, Alistair raised his hand and let his knuckles brush along her cheek as he replied, "Not yet."

Almost immediately, he was rewarded when color pooled on Anouk's cheeks and she diverted her gaze with a breathy laugh. "You didn't need to come and check on me, Alistair."

_Right, _he reminded himself. _There was another reason you came up here, idiot. _He nodded. "I know, but, uh… there was another reason I came up here…" he stammered. "You and I, we haven't talked much since Redcliffe... and I know our… friendship hasn't exactly been the easiest, but…" _I miss you_.

Why couldn't he bring himself to actually say it?

She shrugged and looked down at the book pressed between her hands. Shamelessly, Alistair stared, thrilling with the thought that he had made her blush. "You were angry with me, I do not see why there was a need to talk," Anouk said quietly.

"I was angry with you, but not anymore, Anouk; and I am so sorry for the way I spoke to you. I was just… I don't know, I wanted there to be a way that we could save everyone, all this death really starts to take its toll. I'm still waiting for all of this to get easier," Alistair said to her, hoping that he sounded sincere.

To his surprise, Alistair suddenly felt Anouk's hand on his arm and when he looked down, she had manipulated his hand open and laced her fingers together with his. She always amazed him at how deceitful her stature could be. He knew how strong she really was, how agile and deft her fingers, but now Alistair felt if he squeezed her hand just a little too tightly, the bones of her hand would break. He felt his breath catch slightly because the only person Anouk openly showed affection for was Dmitri, but Alistair relished it, curling his fingers around hers in turn and returning the gentle squeeze.

Too soon, it was over and Anouk had withdrawn her hand leaving something pressed to the palm of Alistair's. The amulet was face down, but he knew it instantly. "My mother's amulet," he breathed, "but I shattered this, where did you find it?"

"In the Arl's study atop the desk."

"The Arl's study?" he replied, then turned over the amulet to see that its face was still cracked. "That means Eamon found it… and repaired it?"

"Perhaps he meant to give it back to you someday, but could not find the right time," she offered gently.

Alistair shook his head, unable to come to terms with his shock. "I was wretched to him after he sent me away, why would he keep this?"

"Not everything is as it seems, Alistair. Eamon clearly cared for you a great deal, even after you were _wretched_ to him," Anouk replied with a smile. "Just because you are angry with someone, or they are angry with you does not mean that they care for you any less."

He tightened his hand around the amulet, bringing it to his chest, determined not to lose it again. The well of his emotions was threatening to over flow as he openly stared at Anouk's profile, trying so hard to understand her in an instant. Alistair knew it was an impossibility, there were too many sides to her, too many facets and he could not reconcile them all into simpler terms no matter how he labored to do so. The only thing he could do was build on everything that he already learned and already knew, accepting the fact that somehow, someway everything combined into the woman on the rooftop with him.

"Thank you," Alistair finally said, empathically. "I thought for sure that I had lost this forever, you don't know what this means to me."

"Your thanks isn't necessary," she assured him.

"No it is, because the fact that you found this, remembered it and _returned it_ to me means that you not only suffered my rambling, but you _listened,_" he told her. "I'm so used to being ignored when I talk, it's refreshing to know someone actually listens."

Her features softened then and Anouk closed her eyes, tilting her head back in appreciation of the sun's warmth on her cheeks. She looked so different now from the fierce warrior Alistair had always known her to be, with the light banishing the shadows that always seemed to dance across her features. Here in the setting sun's light, Alistair could almost forget that they were both Grey Wardens, that Anouk could kill an opponent at 200 paces; that he was both a bastard son and long lost brother to Kings. Alistair could almost forget that they were embroiled in a war that would decide the fate of all of Ferelden.

Finally, Anouk sighed and turned to face him, smiling softly. "Of course I listened Alistair, I always listen; you mean a great deal to me."

_I should say something, right? _Alistair thought in a panic. But he couldn't seem to get any sound out around the dryness of his throat and the way his tongue suddenly felt obnoxiously thick in his mouth. He was suddenly very aware of his breathing, heavy almost gasping for air as he tried to reason with what Anouk had just said. She had gotten the better of him after all, and Alistair had never before felt so off kilter.

"I… don't know what… to say," he finally replied, though haltingly. "You… mean a lot to me, too."

And Alistair realized that she did, but before this moment he hadn't come to terms with just _how much_ Anouk meant to him. His thoughts suddenly drifted to the item stored safely away in the depths of his pack. At night, when the nightmares prevented him from falling asleep, Alistair would take it out and stare at it, admiring the fact that even after weeks of being in his possession that it still had not died. In hindsight, he really didn't know why he picked the rose, but it had brought him a sense of calm those nights when sleep was elusive.

In a lot of ways, Anouk did the same thing – brought him a sense of calm. But where the rose brought him calm in the stillness of night, Anouk gave him calm amid the chaos of battle. She was a constant, always there in his blind spots watching out for him at his weakest points and Alistair knew, inexplicably, that he could trust her.

So Alistair's mind wandered again to the rose tucked safely away in his pack… _hers_ now.

.

.

A few days later, Alistair was thrilled to finally be out of the confines of Genitivi's tiny home. As it turned out, the book that Anouk had been holding that day in the rooftop garden had been the journal of Ser Friden, a Templar that Alistair had known during his own training. The man was several years older than Alistair, but he remembered that Ser Friden had always been fair in his treatment of all of the Templar recruits, noble or poor. Anouk had found it entirely by coincidence the day that she, Dmitri and Sten had gone to the brothel on a request from Sergeant Kylon.

Upon reading through the majority of the journal with Anouk, which documented Ser Friden's hunt for a faction of blood mages within Denerim, Alistair had asked if they could investigate the abandoned building the fallen Templar referenced. Thankfully, Anouk had agreed and had requested that Morrigan and Dmitri accompany them should things go awry.

And go awry they did, in the worst possible way. Alistair's elation over his conversation with Anouk upon the rooftop dwindled and died quickly when they met their first resistance not a hundred feet into the building.

The abandoned building was not abandoned at all, but turned out to be the blood mage's hideout and as it turned out, everyone was home at the time of their visit. It was much larger than they anticipated with many rooms, a token force of mages and mercenaries, and riddled with so many traps of varying sophistication that Anouk had not been able to sense and disable many of them. At each turn they wondered if they had finally cut through the last of the forces and at each turn, each new door they opened, they were met again with opponents in their way that wanted nothing more than to take their heads clean off of their shoulders.

Anouk was beside him every step of the way, giving Alistair that same sense of calm as she found her thrills in the battle. This was by far the most difficult fight they had been in, they were out of their league with these blood mages, but with Anouk fighting so fearlessly and confidently, Alistair had to believe that they would come out of this the victors. She had never failed to clench a victory for them in the past so Alistair had no reason to believe any differently now. It was difficult, painfully, monumentally difficult; but they owed it to Ser Friden and to all of the people who had been sacrificed in these blood mages' blind search for power to see it through to the end.

"DMITRI!"

It was the absolute distress in Anouk's voice that caught Alistair's attention. Knocking his opponent's attack away, Alistair turned to see what had happened and upon seeing the blood red aura surrounding Dmitri, Alistair knew exactly what was going on. The leader of the blood mages was siphoning Dmitri's blood to power his spells and with the extent of his friend's injuries from their fight through the building it was not a difficult task.

"DMITRI!" Anouk cried again, barely managing to dodge an attack from the qunari mercenary as he bore down on her relentlessly. With a heavy kick to her opponent, Anouk's eyes found his. "_Alistair do something! You're the only one who can!_"

Filled with a sudden determination, Alistair bashed the mercenary captain in the face with his shield, the taking advantage of his moment of shock, ran him through. The mercenary captain sputtered, and Alistair felt blood fleck across his face before he shoved the captain from the length of his blade. It took more effort than Alistair wanted to admit to summon the willpower for his Smite, but in their descent into the bowels of this hell he had all but exhausted his willpower.

While he gathered his willpower, Anouk messily dispatched her qunari and Alistair tried to ignore the wet, heavy thudding of the giant's head as it hit the wooden floor. She turned and made for the blood mage leader and Dmitri, and Alistair knew that if he did not cast his Smite by the time she reached them that she, along with Dmitri would most likely be dead.

The putrid smell of burning flesh and human hair suddenly filled the room, as the corner of the room Morrigan had been fighting in suddenly erupted into a blaze of orange as she set her own opponent aflame. The screaming was atrocious, but Morrigan did not allow her victim to suffer overlong, silencing him as she drove an ice spear through his flaming chest cavity.

Alistair cast his Holy Smite with a cry as he drained the last dregs of his willpower. The room lit white as the smite filled the room, rendering the magic of the leader absolutely useless. Dmitri hit the ground in a crumbled heap as the leader attempted to stumble back in shock, but he didn't get very far. Anouk was there, tackling him to the floor, her weapons having been abandoned in her effort to cross the room quickly. But the sounds of her fists hitting flesh swelled into the room until it was the only thing Alistair could hear as he crossed the room. He had never seen Anouk display such brutality as she beat the blood mage leader to death, his face no longer recognizable and her hands covered to the wrists in his blood.

Alistair went to her, gripped her by the shoulders firmly. "Anouk stop, it's over… stop," he pleaded with her, running his hands down her arms to grasp her wrists. He couldn't bear to see her like this.

She scrambled from his grip, crawled to Dmitri's side and lifted his head off the floor. He was alive, but only just and he would not last much longer. There were tears on her face as she shook him, trying to rouse him. "Dmitri, wake up, it's over… you have to wake up!" she cried. Anouk draped herself over Dmitri as she sobbed and Alistair's heart felt like it was shattering in his chest. "You have to wake up! I CANNOT GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN… Not again! _Diganeli_ please!"

Suddenly Anouk's head shot up and her eyes searched wildly around the room. "Morrigan! Heal him!" she demanded when her eyes found the witch.

Morrigan, in what Alistair thought was an uncharacteristic show of sympathy, crouched down beside Anouk and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "I've already told you," she began gently, "I am no Healer… there is nothing I can do. I am sorry."

But Anouk couldn't accept that. She gripped the front of Morrigan's robes with her bloody hands, drawing the witch closer. "Morrigan _please. _I am begging you, I _cannot_ lose him. Please."

It must have been how broken and lost Anouk appeared that swayed the witch because she sighed and gave a nod. "I will try, but I cannot guarantee anything."

Alistair divided his attention between Morrigan, divesting Dmitri of his breastplate to Anouk, shaking and inconsolable beside the witch. It occurred to Alistair that Anouk had not killed the blood mage leader in a rage, but it had been out of a crippling fear – the fear that he had taken from her someone that she loved. And yet somehow, Alistair felt acutely responsible. If he had not asked to investigate the abandoned building, Dmitri would not be dying on the floor before him and Anouk would not be losing her mind with grief.

Sweat appeared on Morrigan's brow from the effort that she was exuding, Alistair could feel her magic flaring, but stubbornly refusing to manifest while Dmitri's life slipped further away. Anouk grew more disheartened as the seconds ticked away, and he knew that she was only another moment away from a grief-stricken scream. If Dmitri died, Alistair did not know how he would be able to comfort Anouk.

Then, miraculously, Morrigan's hands began to glow with healing light and she made a noise in surprise. It had worked, Morrigan had been able to break down whatever wall divided her from the healing magic that she was capable of. Color returned to Dmitri's cheeks, his chest began to expand and deflate with more regularity, and the smaller injuries shrank until they disappeared completely. But because Morrigan's healing ability was new, there was only so much she could do, and after another moment she drew back breathing heavily.

"I'm afraid that is all I can do for the moment, but it is enough to get him back to Genitivi's home," she panted, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Anouk didn't say anything, merely stared at Dmitri as he laid unconscious. Slowly, she reached out to lay a hand on his chest, just over his heart, finally breathing a sigh of relief when she had confirmed that his heart was beating steadily.

* * *

><p><strong>I am so bad at updating everything. I know. But the good news is with Inquisition coming out<br>later this year, I've actually found my zeal for this story again! **

**The last part was the mission THE LAST REQUEST, which in my opinion is one of the more  
>difficult missions in the game. If you're not properly leveled, or youyour companions are not  
>adequately geared you get your ass handed to you! <strong>

**BTW, did anyone actually think I would kill Dmitri? I really did seriously consider it... **

**-(gxr)-**


	22. XXII

**Wilder**

**.**

**.**

**XXII**

**.**

**.**

Dmitri laid in the small back bedroom for over a week recovering from his injuries. Morrigan kept him unconscious during that time, healing him a little more each day, giving him restorative elixirs and poultices to make up for the lack of actual nutrition. But because her healing abilities were still new they were limited. The outer injuries were easy for her to heal, but it was the internal ones that gave her trouble; the broken bones, the internal bleeding and whatever other damage had been done to his organs. The witch earned a bit of respect from Alistair as she pushed her herself a bit further each time she attempted to heal Dmitri, and each time Alistair was in the room just in case she pushed herself _too far_ and began to thin the Veil, but Morrigan was always perfectly in control of her magic. Reluctantly Alistair had to admit that he was… impressed.

Anouk didn't leave Dmitri's side and absolutely refused any magical healing that Morrigan offered her or insisted upon. She would heal on her own, slowly, eventually, and insisted that Dmitri remain Morrigan's main priority. It seemed to Alistair that what happened to Dmitri appeared to wear away Anouk's final shred of complacency with Denerim. Sadly enough, he understood her reasoning why – if they hadn't come to Denerim, Dmitri wouldn't have almost died. Anouk didn't blame the blood mages for Dmitri's condition, she blamed Denerim. It wouldn't have made much sense to anyone else, but Alistair had come to understand the way Anouk reasoned and thought… to an extent.

Alistair drowned himself in Genitivi's research, more determined than ever that they get out of Denerim and find out wherever Genitivi went. If Alistair was in the habit of being completely honest with himself; which he was mostly in the habit of being in a state of denial with himself, (or in the habit of _if-I-don't-think-about-it-it-might-go-away_), he might admit that the reason he threw himself wholeheartedly back into the research was to ignore the twisting he felt in his stomach. He knew it was wrong and horribly petty, but Alistair couldn't help it.

He found himself wondering if he was the one who had been so badly injured if Anouk would have sat up beside his sick bed for days. He wondered if it had been him, instead of Dmitri, would Anouk have lost her mind the way she had over Dmitri. Or were her extremes of emotion only reserved for Dmitri, reserved for the one of them who explicitly trusted the decisions she made and never questioned her.

Alistair threw down the field journal he was reading in frustration. He couldn't concentrate. Anouk hadn't come out of the back room for more than a few minutes in days, it was almost as if she wasn't here at all. Colored spots appeared behind his eyes as he rubbed them only now realizing just how tired he was. When Alistair glanced up he noticed that it was dark outside the windows and, looking around, he saw that all of his companions were asleep – Leliana had curled up across two chairs with a stack of parchment in her lap; Sten sat against the wall with his sword laying across his folded knees and Morrigan was much in the same position, her back into a corner with her staff leaning against her shoulder; while Zevran was asleep across the table, his head pillowed on his arms.

With a sigh, Alistair stood, made his way to the back room and slowly opened the door. He wasn't surprised to find that the oil lamp had dimmed, the flame within no taller than a fingernail still flickering and dancing weakly. Anouk was asleep as well, her head near Dmitri's hip and gripping his hand tightly in hers; even in sleep she was afraid of losing him. She was having nightmares, Alistair could tell in the way her eyes moved too rapidly behind her lids, the ragged shortness of her breathing and the seemingly uncontrollable twitching of her muscles.

He reached out, brushing the hair back from Anouk's sweat dampened forehead, tucking it neatly behind her ear. Before he could talk himself out of it, Alistair found himself curving down and delicately pressing his lips to her temple. It was probably the most gentle way Anouk had ever woken from a nightmare since becoming a Grey Warden; she made a noise of minor protest as her eyebrows came together and the hand that was gripping Dmitri's came to rub over her face, before she sat up and blinked tiredly at him.

"Alistair?"

"Hey," he said, crouching down in front of her. "How's he doing?"

"Better each day," Anouk replied. She arched her back and stretched, a mewling sound emitting from the back of her throat. "Is it morning?"

"Middle of the night, more like," Alistair answered. "You probably haven't been asleep very long."

Anouk nodded. "How is the research coming?"

"Surprisingly there's been a lot of progress. We've managed to narrow down the area of Ferelden Genitivi was likely working in. And we would have left already, but the area's just too large and mostly mountainous, it would take us, who knows how long, to scour through the terrain just to find one man. Leliana's been working on matching ancient maps of Ferelden with more modern ones, so we're a little more oriented when we come across something that seems important," Alistair explained.

"That's good news," Anouk said under her breath, more to herself than Alistair. "The sooner we get out of Denerim the better."

Anouk looked like hell. Lips pale and chapped, there were dark circles under her eyes, the gash on her forehead was scabbed and red around the edges with a minor infection, and the mottled bruise on her face from the qunari mercenary had finally faded some, leaving her dusky skin tinged with the greens and yellows of healing. She seemed so much older now than from when Alistair had first met her only a few months ago, as though some of the ever present determination had dimmed, leaving her hollow and threadbare.

Alistair just wondered how much more she could take.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Anouk snapped all of a sudden, drawing Alistair from his reverie.

He shook himself. "Sorry? Looking at you like what?"

"As though… I am about to crumble to pieces," she replied.

"I'm just worried about you," he admitted.

"I know you are," she sighed, reaching out to lay her hand on his shoulder. But she made no attempt to reassure him that his worry was misplaced as she usually would have. With another sigh, Anouk took back her hand and Alistair felt bereft of the warm weight of his on his shoulder as her hand came to rest back in her lap. There was a sad smile on her face as she turned to look at him and said, "Do you remember the day at Flemeth's hut? When you got down in front of me and pleaded with me to come with you, to not abandon you?"

Alistair nodded. Of course he remembered. He had been so terrified that she was going to turn him down, that Anouk was going to leave him on his own to try and gather the treaties and disappear back into the Wilds, never to be seen or heard from again. Alistair knew if that had been what happened he would have spent the rest of his life wondering what exactly became of her, whether she died in the Wilds exacting her revenge against the darkspawn, or she returned to her people to lead them safely out of the Blight lands.

"Aren't you curious as to why I agreed, why it hadn't taken much convincing me?"

"It was a little abrupt," he said at length, "but I wasn't about to question it in case I made you change your mind."

"I was… scared to be parted from you… or Dmitri," Anouk whispered as she hung her head and began to twist her hands over each other. "The two of you were the only… familiar things I had left after Ostagar. As much as I want to return to my people I hardly belong with them anymore."

"But you'll always be Chasind," Alistair assured her.

"I know that, but grudgingly I have come to realize that my place is not among them anymore," Anouk replied, her voice still low. "Even after the Blight I fear that you and Dmitri will always need me more than they do and… I swore to myself that I would protect the both of you." She sighed again and ran both of her hands through her hair, "Wonderful job I have done so far."

Of its own accord, Alistair's hand reached out to rest on her knee. "This wasn't your fault, not at all, you have to know that!"

"I do know that, but that does not stop me from blaming myself."

Silence claimed the room as Anouk leaned back into the chair, slouching herself down into the seat until her knees butted up against the edge of the bed. The position was such a contrast to how Anouk usually held herself, more child-like than Alistair had ever seen her that it brought a rueful smile to his lips as he squeezed her knee, wordlessly letting her know that he was there for her. To his shock, Anouk placed her hand atop his before slowly interlocking her fingers between his own. Then, she slowly raised his hand off of her knee before pressing his open palm gently over the spot where her heart beat against her chest.

Alistair's pulse quickened as he felt her heart fluttering steadily against his palm and he swallowed so hard it felt as though he had swallowed his own tongue. Anouk had no idea the effect that she had on him because surely if she did, she wouldn't dare test his self-control in this manner. He tried so hard not to allow his shock to be written so plainly across his expressions, but there was no hiding the blush that seared his cheeks and ears. Maker, it felt like his face was going to melt!

Anouk shifted suddenly, turning in the chair to face Alistair all the while keeping his hand pressed to her chest. She met his gaze, eyes dancing between his as she reached out with her other hand and mimicked his position, placing her open palm against where his heart was going absolutely insane against the caging of his chest. She didn't speak immediately, just watched him with that disconcertingly calculating stare and Alistair wondered what exactly Anouk was seeing in him in that moment. When Alistair couldn't bear to look at her a moment longer he dropped his gaze to where her hand still pressed his to her skin, and the constellation of freckles spread under her clavicles.

"Among my people, to place your hand over the heart of a companion is a show of solidarity. You recognize that two hearts beat for the same purpose, that you are one in a way that transcends all the boundaries that may be between you," Anouk told him quietly, and Alistair could feel her every exhale across his face. "In the spirit of that solidarity, I must ask something of you, Alistair."

At that point in time Anouk could have asked him to single-handedly invade Orlais in nothing but his smalls and he probably would have agreed.

"You once told me that a person did not have to take the Templar vows to learn the skills," she began, "and I would ask that you teach Dmitri once he wakes."

Alistair felt his eyebrows come together as he raised his head back to look at Anouk and said nothing right away, just blinked at her. He hadn't expected _this_, that she would ask him to betray his Templar training and share the secrets with someone outside of the Chantry. Somewhere in him that old fear rekindled at the thought, the fear of what would happen to him if the Grand Cleric discovered that he had gone back on his word. He was a Grey Warden now and beyond the Chantry's long reach, but the thought didn't instill him with much confidence and security as it once did considering their order's current standing in Ferelden.

He knew this was not something that Anouk would ask lightly. Magic had almost taken Dmitri's life and if he had been trained in the Templar talents before they'd gone to the abandoned building, the situation might have ended differently. Alistair could certainly see the benefits of having another of their party being knowledgeable in the ways of dispelling magic, but was he really and truly ready to betray the Chantry's secrets so completely?

When Alistair didn't answer for a long while, Anouk spoke again. This time there was as slight tremor in her voice, as though she was fearing that Alistair was going to deny her request. "I know that you probably think I do not understand what I am asking of you – "

"No, Anouk that's not it, I -"

"You would be right," she admitted quietly, halting him. "I _don't_ know what I am asking of you, Alistair. I don't know if you were sworn to secrecy about your training, and if I am now asking you to betray a promise that you made. Given your silence and hesitation, I most likely am, and I am truly sorry for asking you to besmirch your own honor because of my lack of understanding. However, we need more than one person able to defend against magic because do not think I did not notice just how much you drained yourself during the fight with the blood mages."

Alistair considered carefully and weighed his response before he replied, "I will think about it, that's all I can say for right now. This isn't a simple thing that you're asking me to do."

Anouk nodded once as she removed her hand from his chest, leaning back and finally let go of where Alistair's hand had been pressed against her own chest. He reclaimed his hand, curling his fingers into a fist as though he could hold onto the warmth of Anouk's skin, or the soft cadence of her heartbeat against his palm. He tried so hard not to feel the bottoming out of his stomach with the abrupt blankness that Anouk suddenly regarded him with, but there was, hollow and pulsing.

"I can respect that," she said and granted him a slow, empty grin. But Alistair saw it for what it was: a dismissal. Maybe she thought he couldn't see it, the sudden irritation that tightened the corners of her eyes. Maybe Anouk thought that Alistair didn't know her well enough yet to recognize the way the corners of her mouth pursed together and the tendon in her jaw flexed as though she were forcing her thoughts to stay behind her teeth.

Alistair saw it all, but he knew if he let that sway him that he really wouldn't have come to the decision on his own.

With a sigh he stood and made for the door. "Get some sleep, Anouk," he said over his shoulder as he left.

**.**

**.**

Given how his and Anouk's conversation about teaching Dmitri the Templar talents ended, Alistair knew it was only going to be a matter of time before she had a blowout. Morrigan finally deemed Dmitri healed enough to remove the sleeping spell from him, but when two more days passed and he still did not wake, Anouk snapped. He had known it was going to happen, he'd seen the signs all day. From the moment she emerged from the back room Anouk was anxious and fidgety. She hovered over them as they read through the research as though she was waiting for one of them to jump up and shout that they knew were Genitivi was and that they could leave Denerim immediately.

Difficult though it was, Alistair was content to _try_ and ignore her breathing down their necks. More often than not he found himself counting her steps as Anouk paced around the room, reading the same sentence five times before shaking himself and taking a deep breath to redouble his concentration. Even though Alistair knew that she couldn't read most of what was on the papers he was reading, every once in a while, Anouk would come up behind him and lean over his shoulder as though she were reading along with him. It was alarmingly difficult to ignore her in those moments with her body heat at his back, her hair brushing along his shoulder and her breath at his ear.

It was about mid-afternoon when Anouk seemed to have decided that she'd had enough. She was standing, absently flipping through a book when she suddenly slammed the book down onto the table with enough force to topple several stacks of papers. Leliana scrambled comically to her feet in attempt the catch one or two of the piles, but to no avail as the parchments fluttered softly to the floor.

"Anouk, what on earth has gotten into you!?" Leliana huffed as she crouched to the floor and began sorting through the papers that had fallen.

"I _need_ to get out of this house!" Anouk snapped, slamming her palm against the table for emphasis. "I don't know how you can stand it!"

She swept out her arm, dashing more papers to the floor much to Leliana's consternation. "I feel as though I'm_ suffocating!_" she shouted, picking up the book she slammed down before throwing it against the wall as hard as she could where it exploded in a flurry of ink-lined paper and dust.

Content now with her destruction Anouk stormed for the door, toppling a chair in her haste to leave and slamming the door in her wake. Alistair sat back and released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, looking around at the shocked expressions of his companions. Apparently, he'd been the only one who was ready for Anouk's tantrum, because really, what else was he going to call it?

"What the _hell_ was that about?" Zevran wondered. With a sigh the elf stood, "I will get her."

"Let her go," Alistair told him. "She'll come back when she calms down."

"Is that the best idea? To let her wander around the city by herself?" Leliana wondered.

"You should be more concerned about whomever comes across Anouk in her current temper," Morrigan quipped.

With Anouk gone it was easier to return to the research. Alistair and his companions read quietly, though he was absently aware of Leliana leaving and returning with something to eat. They were so close, he could feel it, there was just one piece of critical information they were missing! The search area was shrinking with each day that passed.

Time slid by unaccounted for and though Alistair grew more tired with each passing hour, he dared not stop reading. It wasn't until the door to the back room opened that Alistair even lifted his head, half-expecting to see Anouk, only to be surprised as Dmitri ambled into the room holding his head. Morrigan immediately stood and walked into the kitchen seeing his fellow Warden enter the room.

"Maker's shriveled sack, I feel like an ogre bashed me around by my ankles," he said plopping into a chair. "How long have I been out?"

"Over a week, it's good to see you moving, my friend, we feared the worst," Zevran answered with a relieved smile.

Dmitri breathed a laugh. "It's good to know you didn't give up on me."

"More like Anouk wouldn't _allow_ us to give up on you, she scarcely left your side this entire time," Leliana told him.

"Drink this," the witch instructed as she reentered the room, placing a metal cup before Dmitri.

Dmitri did as he was told, downing the liquid in one go, seeming to have to muscle the taste down his throat. He shook his head with a grimace, placing the cup back on the table, but immediately looking better for having drank the restorative potion.

"Speaking of Anouk, where is she?" Dmitri wondered, craning his head around obviously thinking that he had just missed her.

Panic suddenly slithered its way through Alistair's bones. Anouk hadn't returned yet? He thought for sure that she had and he just hadn't noticed! It couldn't have been that long since she stormed out, could it? But as Alistair looked around at his companions he saw the same worry and panic etched into their faces as well. Suddenly the sound of the Chantry bells echoed through the small house and Alistair held his breath, counting the chimes as they sang the time, his stomach sinking with each resonate tone.

Eleven bells. Anouk had been gone all evening and not one of them had even bothered the check the hours since she'd left. _This isn't happening_, Alistair thought frantically as he sprang from his seat and reached for his sword and shield, noticing that Zevran had also risen to his feet. Denerim was hardly the safest city in Ferelden in times of peace, and if what Dmitri had told him about Kylon's worries were true it was even worse now.

And Anouk was out there alone, in the middle of the night with no weapons, no armor and probably no idea where she was.

* * *

><p><strong>Mehhh. Don't even ask. My life has been such a cluster lately. I can't even. <strong>

**Thanks for reading and staying tuned! Thank you to everyone who reviews and adds me/this story to their alerts/favorites. You really have no idea how much it means to me that people are even still remotely interested in this story. I thought for sure that I would have this finished before Inquisition came out, but considering that's in like two and a half weeks, that's not going to happen. So maybe I can work on the rest of this story for NaNoWriMo? We'll see. **

**Review? **

**-(gxr)-**


	23. XXIII

**Wilder**

**.**

**.**

**XXIII**

**WARNING: THE SECOND HALF OF THIS CHAPTER  
>HAS MATERIAL THAT MAY SERVE AS A TRIGGER<br>FOR VICTIMS OF ABUSE. IF THIS APPLIES TO YOU  
>PLEASE DO NOT FEEL THE NEED TO READ IT. AND<br>I ALSO FEEL IT DESERVED A RATING UPGRADE.  
><strong>

**.**

**.**

By the time Anouk bothered to look up from her feet it was already evening and it was the sound of the waves that made her lift her head. Somehow she had found herself at the docks, not far from the brothel if she wasn't mistaken. Her feet had carried her there by sheer memory of having walked the path with Dmitri and Sten nearly two weeks ago. Still, Anouk found herself grateful for the distance from her companions as she walked to the end of the pier, past dock workers and ships and sat at the end. Even the stirring of the taint in her blood had quieted with her distance from Dmitri and Alistair – it almost made her feel human again.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the sea breeze caressed her still hot face, relishing in the salt smell in the air. Anouk had never seen such a large body of water before their trip to The Pearl, so she had been understandably fascinated when she first saw it. She could see no distant shore on the horizon, just the setting sun as it seemed to sink further and further beneath the dark waves and casting the sky in bleeding colors of pinks and orange.

_"__Have you never seen the ocean, Anouk?" Dmitri had asked, walking back to her when he noticed that she had stopped. _

_"… __Oh-shin?" Anouk echoed, rolling the word around in her mouth. "Is it much larger than the lake by Redcliffe?" she asked, her eyebrows tilted together. "That was Lake… Calenhad, correct?" _

_Her fellow Warden laughed and if it had been anyone else Anouk would have been certain that they were making fun of her ignorance, but not Dmitri. _

_"__Lake Calenhad, yes," he said. "And it is quite a bit larger than the lake. This is the Amaranthine Ocean, the Drakon River, which is the river we crossed to get into this district, feeds into it and, a bit further north it meets the Waking Sea." _

_"__I see," Anouk replied. Tilting her head to the side, she considered the water and how it seemed to meet the sky at the edge of the world. "It is breathtaking." _

She hadn't had the time to consider it then, but now as she looked out over the white capped waves and the sun melting into the water, Anouk realized just how _small_ her world was before becoming a Grey Warden. Without the Blight, Anouk would have lived and died in the Korcari Wilds, her knowledge of the world she lived in never extending past Lothering. Given the path that she currently walked as a Grey Warden, her life in the Wilds would have amounted to little in comparison to all of the things Anouk could now accomplish, to the change that she could effect.

But if giving up her Grey Warden title meant that she could see even one loved face from her tribe, Anouk would not hesitate to make the trade. A small part of her still wished that she had died with her tribe; she had been content with her ignorance of the world beyond the Wilds' edge and knew that, in time, she would have come to accept, even enjoy, her role as Taiomah's wife and the _Agigau _of her tribe. Now she had responsibilities heaped upon responsibilities; and the fate of Ferelden weighing down her slender shoulders; and the mantle of a legendary order thrust upon her by Dmitri and Alistair, both of whom would have been far better equipped to lead.

Abruptly, Anouk felt her jaw tighten uncomfortably. _Alistair. _

Sometimes it seemed to Anouk that his sole purpose on this journey was simply to aggravate her. It wasn't the fact that he had politely denied her request to teach Dmitri his Templar talents, it was the fact that Alistair seemed to ignore the strategic advantages of it even as their brother laid unconscious beside them. _I'll think about it_, is what he had said… so he hadn't _exactly_ denied the request, but it did nothing to quell her irritation with him. Anouk hated indecision and caprice; all they did was waste precious time or pave the way for costly mistakes, and Alistair seemed a master of the former.

Anouk highly doubted that the blood mages in the abandoned building were going to be last offensive magic they came across, and the well of Alistair's willpower was only so deep. And it hadn't been until later, after Morrigan had stabilized Dmitri and placed him under the sleeping spell, that Anouk had taken notice of how _awful_ Alistair looked after the fight with the blood mages. He had well and truly drained himself to the dregs, and despite the fact that his injuries were not as visible or life threatening as Dmitri's, Anouk was just as concerned for Alistair. If he kept stretching his willpower so thin, he would wither himself down until there was nothing left and _that_ was not something Anouk was willing to witness.

She could have _ordered_ him to teach Dmitri she supposed, given that he had elected her to lead them, but Anouk didn't want to resort to "pulling rank" (if it could even be called that in these times). She wanted to avoid manipulating him in that manner, though now, considering the outcome of the conversation the idea nagged at her forcefully. When she'd asked him, Anouk had hoped that Alistair would see it as sharing the burden of being their party's only true defense against magic – brute strength and deadly accuracy counted for so little when a mage could paralyze them in their tracks.

Not for the first time since the beginning of this journey Anouk found herself longing for the near single-minded devotion to duty of her people and for companions who did not question her. If Alistair was Chasind, there would have been no hesitation, no indecision. He would have looked at her and said "_tsitsaduliha_" and then as soon as he was well enough, Alistair would have started teaching Dmitri the Templar talents because Anouk wouldn't have had to explain why it was important that he learn. And Alistair may not have liked it, but he would have done it trusting that she knew what she had asked of him.

But Anouk also knew that if Alistair didn't question her, and didn't challenge her, he just wouldn't be _Alistair_. Somehow Alistair always managed to annoy her in a way no other person had ever been able to, not even Taiomah, though at times he had certainly tried. No, it was Alistair who seemed to continually kindle the dying flame of her determination and stubborn pride, and despite the fact that he was so successful at ruffling her feathers, she knew that if he had blindly followed her she would not have come to care for him as she had. Anouk would have seen him as faceless and unremarkable, just another blade between her and the Dark Ones and barely anything more. However, that was not the case and Alistair had somehow managed to carve himself a niche in her broken and scarred heart.

Anouk stayed on the pier for a long while, watching the sun set as nighttime skies chased it away, marveling at the size of the ships coming in to and leaving port. It wasn't until stars were twinkling high above her that she made to leave, burying her hands deep in the pockets of her breeches. As she walked it amazed her that Denerim seemed to be as loud during the night as it had been during the day – the city and its denizens seemed to never sleep. On the contrary, night time seemed to bring the district to life in a way that daylight had not been able to because Anouk did not recall seeing this many people on her way to the docks.

Suddenly she stopped and looked around, trying to choke the swelling panic in the center of her chest. Without the clarifying light of day, all of the buildings looked bleakly similar and Anouk could not recall exactly which path she taken to get there. Around her people began to slowly take notice of her, not that Anouk blamed them. How strange she must have looked to them with her wild hair and exotic features, wearing what would be seen as men's clothing. All she saw when she looked around were pale faced grasslanders who would know her as an outsider at a mere glance.

_Keep moving,_ Anouk told herself. _You look more suspicious simply standing here._

Steeling herself, Anouk took the road in front of her with what she hoped looked like confidence.

**.**

**.**

_Damn this accursed city!_ Anouk thought acidly.

She was hopelessly lost, the winding streets and alleys only serving to turn her around half a dozen times and if that wasn't bad enough it had also started to rain. She had no way to mark which paths she had already taken and had lost the sound of the ocean a long time ago. And because of the noise of the city, and the steady pulse of anxiety Anouk could not calm herself enough to focus on the thrill of the taint in her blood to lead her back to Genitivi's home. Not that she believed it would have done her any good – it had subsided while she was at the docks and had no way to judge how far she was from Genitivi's now.

She could not for the life of her gain her bearings in the city, and for the first time since storming out did Anouk regret her rash decision. If she appeared lost to any of the citizens of Denerim none of them approached her and Anouk could not bring herself to ask for assistance, unwilling to give a stranger the opportunity to take advantage of her ignorance. So she walked in the deluge, scowling at how the endless streets seemed to mock her, and ignoring the curious glances of the people she passed.

Anouk was grateful for the fact that once she seemed to be further into the city the people appeared content to ignore her entirely. She wondered if they took her for a homeless vagrant, and she almost laughed at how ironic of an image that was. It wasn't so far from the truth, after all. But she shook the picture away, crossing her arms tighter over her chest to try and protect herself from the night chill. Distantly, she was aware of the bells as they chimed out the time, but Anouk didn't care to count them.

"Ey, you lost, sweetheart?"

Hating herself for it, Anouk briefly considered stopping and indulging the man who had called out to her. When she turned however, she changed her mind; he stood outside of a tavern with three of his friends, smiling just a little _too _ easily at her. Beside him, his three friends shifted and chuckled amongst themselves, each throwing glances in her direction. Anouk instead turned her attention to the window behind them, looking in to the tavern, warmed by the light of a large fireplace, and she could even hear the good natured laughter from where she was standing. The idea to go inside and ask the barmaid for directions was overwhelmingly tempting, and the promise of warmth and dryness nearly made up her mind for her.

But Anouk did not like the way the four men were looking at her, and the shiver that ran down her spine had nothing to do with the cold. So instead Anouk shook her head and gave the man a resolute "no" before continuing on her way.

"Ooh, I don't think she likes you, Markel," one of the man's friends laughed.

"Shut your trap!" The first man, Markel, snapped. "C'mon honey, don't be like that," he said to her then, falling in step with her, then grabbing her around the elbow, and pulling her to a halt.

It wouldn't be the first time Anouk had to deal with a situation like this, so with practiced ease she slid on that mask of neutrality that she had worked so hard to perfect and turned to him. Swallowing her irritation, Anouk said through her teeth, "I said I am not lost. Now please release me."

He blinked at her in obvious surprise, and Anouk could smell the bitter stench of ale on his breath that suddenly made her stomach roll. She wondered if he could even properly focus on her through his glassy stare. She didn't give him a chance to say anything else before she wrenched her arm back and made an attempt to put some distance between her and the tavern.

The murmuring of conversation trailed behind her as she walked away, her heart now beating in a heady cadence against her ribs. She focused on the sounds at her back, not daring to look back until the pattern of footsteps behind her plummeted her heart into her stomach. Anouk picked up her pace, putting herself at a brisk but measured walk trying her best not to look like she was running away. More than anything, she wanted to turn and stand her ground, but she was not really in any position to do so considering that the only weapon she had on her was the hunting knife tucked into the waistband of her breeches. She wasn't willing to take the risk.

"What? You think you're too good to talk to us, huh?" one of the men called after her.

Anouk looked around wildly for an escape. All she needed was to turn a sharp corner, maybe disappear into a darkened doorway, pull herself up onto an overhang or –

Turn into a dead end.

Fear was never an emotion that Anouk was able to properly process because she felt that it served no real purpose. She was a capable hunter and fighter, and in battle she turned whatever fear she may have felt into determination and will to live. She never feared fighting for her life, she was trained not to, that everything outside of her solitary desire to survive was insignificant: the name given to her, her status among the tribe, her gender, her past. It was why she found battle exhilarating. Through her strenuous, and sometimes torturous, training to become a Chasind hunter she was taught that the purest feeling Anouk would ever experience would be fighting on behalf of her own life.

But now as Anouk turned to four shadows blocking the mouth of the dead end alley, she felt real, true fear wrap its icy fingers around her erratic heart and _squeeze_.

"Well, well, well," one of them chuckled, "backed yourself into a corner didn't you?"

Immediately, Anouk widened her stance, lowered her center of gravity, and took the hunting knife from the waistband of her breeches, leveling the blade perpendicular to her arm. Her eyes darted between the four of them waiting for inevitable signs that one of them was going to make the first move. Let them come at her one on one – she would gut every one of them.

_Great Spirit, give me strength, _ she thought with desperation.

"Oh ho! Pussy cat's got claws!"

"Do you even know how to use that thing, doll?"

Another thing Anouk had learned was that the element of surprise was a useful advantage.

She darted forward, slashing the blade in wide arch before her. The men scattered out of her way and Anouk turned slightly, slicing the blade up feeling the resistance of fabric and skin. A man on her left threw a wild haymaker, which Anouk was able to easily dodge as she dropped into a crouch and swept his legs out from underneath him. The next man attempting to down kick found his attack blocked by her forearm and tossing the knife to her free hand, Anouk stabbed him in the thigh.

They were stronger than her, that was a fact that could not be denied, but they were drunk and she was fast. She hated fighting in these close quarters, especially when the odds were stacked so high against her – at least with her hatchets she had more room between her and her opponent, more distance to allow for a certain, though small, margin of error. But not with the short blade of the knife, every move she made had to be deliberate. And Anouk hadn't wanted to force this altercation, but she had hoped that if they realized she was too much trouble to harass that they would leave her alone.

It was the fourth man that was her undoing. Though her initial attack was unexpected and fast, the fourth man had been too far away from her to defend herself against as he threw himself at her, taking both of them to the ground. Her vision went white as her forehead cracked against the ground, the shockwave making her drop the hunting knife and belatedly, she was aware of hearing the metal scratch against the ground as it was kicked away from her hand.

The weight on her back was gone and shakily, Anouk dragged her knees underneath her, blinking blood and pained tears out of her eyes. All of the air forced itself out of her lungs as one of them kicked her hard enough that her arms crumpled beneath her, immediately curling into herself in a late attempt to protect her vulnerable spots.

"You stupid bitch. That was pretty clever, and you got Cael pretty good, too."

The man speaking grabbed the back of her shirt, forcing Anouk unsteadily to her feet before throwing her at the wall and pinning her there with his hand around her throat, and his knee between her legs. She wrapped her own hands around his wrist, digging in her fingernails, trying to force his hand from her. But it was to no avail, his grip may as well have been iron.

"I see now," he said, "you're one them wilder folk, ain't ya? …You're pretty for a barbarian."

Never before had Anouk felt such potent disgust as she felt his thumb brush, almost lovingly, along the hollow of her throat. In the only act of defiance she could manage, she spit in his face only to be rewarded with an explosion of pain below her ribs. A wet, sputtering cough forced its way out and her mouth was suddenly lined with the warm, metallic taste of blood.

"You just can't make this easy on yourself, can you?"

When she felt his free hand spread itself against the bare skin of her side, Anouk redoubled her resistance, violently bucking her body away from the wall in a vain attempt to throw him off of her. But the blow to her head made her nauseatingly dizzy, and her entire body felt weak and heavy. All he did was laugh in her ear, and when she screamed, he tightened his hand around her neck until her vision began to darken at the edges.

The suddenly his hand loosened just enough for Anouk to gasp in greedily. "Careful, we wouldn't want you passing out before the fun starts, right fellas?" Behind him his friends laughed in agreement.

This wasn't the first time he had done this, of that Anouk was utterly certain. He knew too well how to pin her, to incapacitate her. And the thought that other women had been forced into the position she now found herself in made her want to vomit. If she somehow managed to get herself out of this, she was going to kill all four of them slowly and painfully. Anouk would make certain that she was their last victim.

No one could ever accuse Anouk of not putting up a fight, because fight she did. Even as her vision blurred and doubled, as blood dried on her face and her throat scratched raw from screaming. She ignored the sound of her clothes tearing, his clammy hands on her skin. If he wanted a barbarian, then a barbarian he would get. So she threw all of her training out the window, clawing, kicking and biting shamelessly; railing against him with all of her might and adrenaline as he tried his damndest to claim her.

That was when she saw it, the shadow on the roof outlined by the night sky. She saw the moonlight play along the blades in his hands, then suddenly he dropped off the roof and Anouk heard one of the men watching make a wet, gurgling sound as he went down.

"What the hell was that?" the man who had her growled.

"ANOUK!"

Boneless with relief, Anouk slid down the wall as the man was ripped away from her. She was shaking violently, staring blankly ahead trying desperately to come to terms with what had almost happened. But it _hadn't_, her fighting hadn't been in vain after all, just bought her blessed time until Alistair and Zevran found her.

The sounds of painful groaning swelled into the air around her as Alistair turned and knelt down in front of her, laying his blade and shield beside him. She was grateful that he did not immediately try to reach out to her, but it was the dark, fierce look in his eyes that caught her breath. Anouk had never seen Alistair display such a depth of emotion since they met; she could feel the fury radiating from him.

"Oh, Maker…" he breathed as his eyes took in her beaten and torn appearance. "Oh Maker, Anouk, I am so sorry. I should never have let you leave the house! He didn't…" Alistair didn't seem to have it in him to finish his question, just looked at her wretchedly.

She could only manage to shake her head. And then, overwhelmed, Anouk shattered completely. She threw herself into Alistair's arms, sobbing, seeking any amount of comfort she could find. He only hesitated for a moment before he wrapped his arms firmly around her, tucking her into his chest as if he could shield her from what she had just gone through. Alistair didn't seem to care that she was still soaking wet, cold and covered in blood; he held her as if he was trying to keep all of her suddenly broken pieces together. And Anouk clung to him desperately, finding comfort in the hard beating of his heart and the warmth of his strong embrace.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're safe, Anouk. I've got you, now," Alistair murmured against the top of her head.

* * *

><p><strong>I know that a lot of people probably aren't going to like what just happened, but it's going to serve its purpose in getting Anouk out of Denerim because we're going to the Brecillian Forest next. And I read something once that went "your characters are like geodes. If you want to find out what they're made of, you must break them". This is also the first time I've ever written a scene similar to this and believe me when I say that it was just as uncomfortable for me to write, as it was to read. Maybe even more so because I argued with myself for DAYS before I wrote it and then stayed up ALL NIGHT writing it. <strong>

**And incase you couldn't tell, Zevran dropping off the roof was a nod to one of my other favorite gaming series - Assassin's Creed. **

**Anyway, THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED! I also had someone ask me how I pronounce Anouk's name. I didn't put it in the first chapters because it honestly didn't occur to me that people might pronounce it differently than I do. So, better late than never I suppose. I pronounce Anouk's name as AH-NUKE. However, in thinking over the pronunciation of her name it also occurred to me that Alistair would probably pronounce it as AH-NOOK. I suppose this late in the game it doesn't matter anymore as everyone is probably comfortable with their own pronunciation. Really, either way it doesn't matter, whatever you're comfortable with!**

**As for the one translation of this chapter: _tsitsaduliha_ - as you wish**

**Alright, enough from me for today. See you next chapter! **

**Review? **

**-(gxr)-**


	24. XXIV

**Wilder**

**.**

**.**

**XXIV**

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**.**

As he and Zevran searched Denerim, Alistair had no way of knowing in what condition they would find Anouk. The optimistic half of him told him that they would find her no worse for the wear; maybe a bit annoyed that she had gotten herself lost and on the way back to Genitivi's the worst thing he would have to endure was listening to Anouk gripe and moan about the city. The pessimistic half of himself told him that they were going to find out that she had been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and their journey to end the Blight would have to be derailed as they rescued her..

While they were searching for Anouk, Alistair could not help his anger with her for storming out of the house. He couldn't begin to understand what she had been thinking. Anouk was hardly one to make rash decisions, least of all make decisions that could possibly leave her vulnerable; and yet, she had stormed from Genitivi's house like a tempestuous child without regard to the thought that she was an outsider in Denerim, and outsiders made for easy prey. Perhaps it was a sign of stress finally getting the better of her nerves, bringing about the end of her long suffering, dangerously thin patience. Alistair knew Anouk's personality was not suited to sitting idly by and doing nothing, but surely she understood that they were doing the best they could?

He had fully intended on berating Anouk for her impetuousness on the way back to Genitivi's, driving home how _worried_ he had become upon realizing that she had not returned. He was going to try and make her feel guilty for not being there when Dmitri awoke, which Alistair hoped would make her realize just how foolish she had been. He had the whole lecture planned out in his head, and Maker help Anouk if she interrupted him because Alistair was in _no mood_.

… That was when Alistair heard the screaming and when they finally found Anouk, there was no way to describe the violence with which the scene before him slammed into him. If he lived to be a hundred and never again came across a scene similar to the one he and Zevran found in that dead end alley, it would be too soon. Even the most cynical parts of Alistair could not have come up with the situation they came across, and even after bearing first hand witness to it, he could still scarcely believe it. Fury unlike anything Alistair had ever felt before roared to life with all the ferocity of an explosion, and the only thing he could think about was getting to her, protecting her – even killing the men responsible for her sorry state became secondary.

Repulsion bubbled in his gut as he looked at Anouk, taking in the new bruises appearing on her skin and the way she tried to use what was left of her tunic to cover her modesty. The haunted, empty look in her eyes was something Alistair knew he would never forget, and a look he _never_ wanted to see again. As he knelt before her, Alistair hated himself for not knowing how to comfort her, but the urgency that he felt to pull Anouk to him rattled him – he clenched his shaking fists to prevent himself from reaching for her.

"Oh, Maker… Oh Maker, Anouk, I am so sorry."

Alistair didn't exactly know what was apologizing for: that this happened to her, that he hadn't found her sooner, that he hadn't been there to protect her, that he didn't realize she never came back to house, that part of him had been _relieved_ when she had stormed out? It seemed to him that there was an endless list of things he needed to apologize to Anouk for, but could not find any other words other than _I am so_ _sorry. _He felt like he was going to be sick, like he was drowning as he suddenly faced all of his glaring inadequacies, and that he had not been there when she needed him the most.

"I should never have let you leave the house! He didn't…" _Please tell me he didn't._

Anouk shook her head weakly, looking for all the world like she was trying to disappear into the wall behind her and Alistair couldn't help the thankful sigh that he released. What he was not expecting, however, was that in the span of his next breath that Anouk would hurl herself at him, burying her face into his chest as she wracked with sobs. A moment of uncertainty made him hesitate before Alistair embraced her with a confidence he didn't really feel, tucking her trembling frame to his chest, understanding that this was what she needed. He could feel her nails rake his skin as she balled her hands in the fabric of his shirt and Alistair tilted his head back, blinking back the wetness in his own eyes. Alistair caught the look Zevran threw his away, silently telling him that Anouk did not need his sympathy right now – she needed him to be the eye of the storm she was weathering.

In that moment, in his arms, Anouk was _not_ a Grey Warden and she was _not_ a Chasind hunter. In that moment, she was _not_ strong in any sense of the word, and that was perhaps what Alistair despised the most – realizing just what all of this had stolen from her, even if it was for only a short time. It had shattered every way Anouk defined herself, and Alistair wasn't sure how to even begin to pick up her pieces.

So he just held her tighter, burying one hand in her damp hair and pressing his mouth to the top of her head. "Shh, shh, shh. You're safe, Anouk. I've got you, now."

"I… was… so sc-_scared!_" she panted between sobs, brokenly trying to catch her breath. "I… didn't think…"

"I know," Alistair replied, swallowing down the sudden thickness in his own throat. He didn't want to think about her terrified and helpless, waiting for a rescue she probably resigned herself into thinking wasn't coming. "We need to get you back, it's cold and you'll get sick. And Dmitri's finally awake," he added in the hope it might cheer her, even a little. "Can you stand?"

Anouk nodded, but gripped Alistair for support as she rose shakily to her feet. Alistair let go of her only long enough to stow his sword and shield while she stubbornly wiped at her bruised, bloody and tear-stained face. Every breath Anouk took shuddered through her and Alistair's heart ached as he watched her try to compose herself, try to regain some semblance of who she was before the encounter in the darkened alley. Lifting a hand, Alistair brushed his knuckles over her cheeks, more thankful than words could describe when she didn't flinch away from the touch, just gave him a damaged smile, and blinked her gaze away allowing him to catch a few stray tears on the back of his hand.

When they turned, Alistair was surprised to find that Zevran was still blocking the mouth of the alley with his weapons in his hands, anxiously adjusting the hold on the pommels. If Alistair had any trouble believing Zevran was an assassin before, there was no doubt now as he took in the cold detachment in the elf's eyes, the planes of his face smooth as stone as he regarded the three men who still lived. In fact Alistair was shocked that they still drew breath – he had been almost positive that Zevran would have killed them already. When the elf's eyes drifted to Anouk, his features softened and without a word he switched his weapons between his hands as he shrugged out of the overcoat he'd had the presence of mind to grab before he and Alistair left, and placed it around Anouk's shoulders.

"Thank you, Zevran, Alistair. _Thank you_ for finding me," Anouk said, her voice choked with emotion as she looked between them. "I was certain that…"

"There is no need to thank us, my dear. Would that we had only gotten here sooner," Zevran replied, his tone sad as he cupped Anouk's cheek with his free hand. In a heartbeat, the tender look was gone and his eyes once again stilled coldly. "Now, what shall be done about these three?"

Anouk turned her head looking at the three remaining men, the one who had her pinned to the wall among them. What was Zevran trying to do, Alistair wondered. Why hadn't he just killed them? Clearly Anouk was not in any kind of healthy emotional or mental state to make this decision at the moment. Surely she wouldn't begrudge them making this one decision for her because Alistair certainly wouldn't have minded seeing them bleed out.

"Really, Zevran, do you honestly think – "

But Zevran just held up a hand, stopping Alistair mid question, but never taking his eyes from Anouk as she took three steps toward the man nearest her, raising himself to his knees as she approached and looking rightfully terrified. Alistair held his breath as he watched, but she didn't move for a long, tense moment, that familiar blank neutrality etched across her expression. For a moment he thought the man might try to fight her, that he might try to escape, but his petrified gaze darted between Alistair and Zevran; his expression collapsing as he realized he had nowhere to go. She moved so fast that if Alistair had blinked he would have missed it when Anouk spun around on her left leg, bringing her right foot around to connect hard with the side of the man's head. Blood sprayed out of his mouth as his head whipped around before he crumpled forward on all fours and Anouk kicked him again. And again. And again, and again, and again, each kick echoed by a dry, half laughing sob from Anouk.

Alistair couldn't help but watch, frozen, utterly unsure of what to do. While the scene before him brought about the incident from the blood mage hideout, this time, it wasn't his place to intervene. These men had hurt _her_, broken _her_… or they had tried to. Watching Anouk now in this animalistic frenzy, Alistair began to wonder if maybe, they had succeeded and the thought broke his heart.

Zevran sheathed his blades, moving forward with sudden purpose as he grabbed Anouk and pulled her away from her brutality. She fought him, trying to get in every blow she could as he dragged her out of reach until the elf whipped her around to face him, holding tightly to her biceps. "Enough, _flor silvestre_. Enough, this is beneath you," Zevran told her.

"Is it?" Anouk bit back harshly. "After what he nearly did to me; after what they have surely done to others, do not tell me they do not deserve this!"

"No," he replied, his voice surprisingly even, "they deserve a death many times over, certainly, but in _this_ manner they would drag you to their level. And I, for one, am not willing to bear witness to that this day."

Anouk scoffed out a condescending laugh and the sound shivered through Alistair's bones uncomfortably. "I am flattered that you think so highly of me, _assassin_. But if you endeavor to spare my soul of stains, I feel I must caution you: you are too late!"

Resentment and potent anger dripped from Anouk's every word, thick as sap, her tone a cutting echo of the emotions Alistair could see in the storm behind her eyes. He hated so fiercely to see her like this, to bear witness to the darkness that Anouk held quietly inside of herself, to watch her lose herself to it. Alistair almost couldn't recognize Anouk like this, a dark facsimile of herself as she allowed her inner demons to twist and pull, and chain her into something she wasn't.

"A pity, that," Zevran sighed, unfazed. "Regardless, when I gave my oath of loyalty to you, it also meant that I would protect you – from the Crows, from the darkspawn, from Loghain… and from _yourself_ if necessary, as it seems to be at this moment! I will _not_ allow you to demean yourself this way, _flor silvestre_. Now go, allow Alistair to take you back – Dmitri is surely worried sick and waiting to see you. _I _will deal with them!"

At the mention of Dmitri, Anouk seemed to come back to herself for which Alistair was thankful. She blinked slowly at Zevran, and the darkness slithered away back into the hollow place where Anouk kept it hidden. She closed her eyes and nodded woodenly, agreeing to the terms Zevran presented her with, gripping him by the shoulders as she took a moment to steady herself. Only now did the assassin release her, taking her head in both of his hands and kissing her forehead with a gentleness Alistair wouldn't have thought him capable of.

"Good girl," he said as he released Anouk, motioning to where Alistair had stood and watched the entire thing.

Anouk took a few steps toward him before she turned back to Zevran once again. "I want to watch," she told him.

If Anouk wanted to see the men who attacked her die, Alistair wasn't going to deny her, but Zevran shocked him for what had to have been the hundredth time that night when he shook his head. He didn't turn to look at her and Alistair could only have imagined the expression on Zevran's face as he watched the tension coil itself in the set of the elf's shoulders. And Alistair couldn't have explained exactly what changed because by rights, nothing had, but in that moment Zevran had become something entirely different than from what Alistair had come to know him as in the weeks since the assassin had joined them. It was even different from when Zevran had confronted him in the forest, when the elf had looked like he was going to _enjoy_ the fight.

_This_ was Zevran, the Antivan Crow.

He only drew his dagger, flipping it over his hand effortlessly as he said, "No. I would rather you didn't, my dear."

**.**

**.**

When Alistair finally returned to Genitivi's, he was carrying Anouk.

Whatever fervor had kept her strong and standing had finally drained from her, but Alistair wasn't sure if she was trembling from the cold or the shock. Anouk had not said a word the entire way back, just walked beside him stiffly until her steps had faltered and her knees abruptly buckled underneath her. He had been so surprised by it that when he felt the downward tug on his arm, he'd had no choice but to follow her to the ground. And then she was gagging, dry heaving with a violence that curved her back even as nothing came out. He knew there was no way he could really comfort her now, so Alistair rubbed her back waiting for it to work out of her system and when it finally did he swept her up into his arms staunching ignoring Anouk's weak protests.

Alistair was surprised to find that their companions were still awake when he entered, Leliana wearing a groove in the floor where she paced, anxiously. Dmitri darted up from his seat, suddenly all tension and worry as he noticed the state in which the two of them had returned. But Alistair ignored their inquisitive stares as he gently set Anouk back on her feet, keeping a hand around her arm to steady her.

"What the hell happened!?" Dmitri demanded loudly, crossing the distance to them. His hands fluttered unsurely for a moment before gently reaching out to lift Anouk's chin, breathing in a hiss through his teeth when she met his gaze blankly. She should have been throwing her arms around him, thrilled beyond measure that he was up and moving.

Alistair ignored his question, instead turning to where Leliana and Morrigan stared on, their expressions a mask of horror because they understood immediately what had happened to Anouk. "Leliana, Morrigan," Alistair called to them, "would the two of you draw a bath for Anouk, clean her up, please?"

The two women nodded dumbly, and Leliana came forward to take Anouk by the wrist to lead her away as Morrigan placed an arm around her shoulders, but offered no further comfort. Alistair could hear the sugar sweet cadence of Leliana's voice as she sang lowly in orlesian, carding her hand up and down the middle of Anouk's back as they led her away to disappear into the wash room.

Alistair had hoped that once he had gotten Anouk back to Genitivi's that the sick feeling rotting away in his gut might diminish, but all it did was roil and fester. He relieved himself of his sword and shield, plopping down heavily into a chair, his gaze flickering over the books and parchment that still littered the table, lighting an irrational, raw anger in the center of his chest.

If they hadn't come to Denerim, none of this would have happened. If Jowan hadn't poisoned Eamon, none of this would have happened. If Loghain hadn't betrayed the King at Ostagar, none of this would have happened…

If Alistair had just agreed to teach Dmitri the Templar talents, Anouk probably would not have stormed out and this _wouldn't have happened. _

"Well?" Dmitri pressed. "Are you going to tell me what the _fuck_ happened to Anouk that she's come back looking like she's just waltzed through the Void!?"

Alistair swallowed down the uncomfortable dryness in his throat, palming his hand over his face before he leaned forward to brace his elbows on the table. "Zevran and I found her… like that. Four men ganged up on her, we found one of them trying to… force himself on her."

Out of the corner of his eye Alistair saw Dmitri's face go ashen as the realization of what Alistair was telling him occurred to him. He had hoped Dmitri would accept the simplified version of it because Alistair didn't think he had it in him to describe the desperate bucking of Anouk's body as she fought, the grated sound of her screaming, voice raw from volume and tears; the manic glee on the man's face as he drank in her torment, pressing his hand beneath the ragged remains of her tunic, his tongue licking the tears from her face –

_Stop. _He told himself, clenching his eyes shut.

"Among the qunari, forcing oneself on another is one of the most soulless, depraved act one can commit and is to be answered without mercy. The men have been put down, I hope," Sten rumbled, and there was a quiet wrath in his voice that genuinely surprised Alistair.

"Zevran's taking care of it," he assured the qunari.

Sten tilted his head just slightly as he regarded Alistair, mild confusion seeming to knot his expression together for a moment. "That right belongs to Anouk."

Alistair shook his head. "Not like that, Sten. It made her as soulless as them."

"No," he countered, "they stole it from her. You have done your fellow Warden a great disservice taking her chance to reclaim it."

"He didn't though? You said one of them was _trying_ to force himself on her," Dmitri stated.

"Right." He nodded. "He didn't, Zevran and I showed up just in time it seemed, not that it mattered – look at what it did to her. I'm not even sure that's Anouk that I brought back."

Dmitri sighed heavily, moving along the table until he picked up a large map of Ferelden and laid it out on the table top. "We were discussing this while you and Zevran were gone," he began. "It's not doing any good for all of us to be here when half of us are doing nothing but watching you read and it's not as though we can pack up all of the brother's research and take it with us. So what we were discussing is that some of us leave and try to collect on one of the treaties in the hope that by the time we get back we'll know where we have to go to find the Urn."

"Which treaty?" Alistair wondered.

"The Dalish," Dmitri replied. "The Brecillian Forest isn't far south of here, less than a week's travel and I'm willing to bet there's at least one Dalish tribe camped there."

"Clan," Alistair corrected him.

"Whatever. The point is we're wasting time with all of us being here when we could split up and cover more ground."

"How are you going to even find the Dalish?" Alistair asked.

"Everyone knows you don't find the Dalish – they find you," Dmitri answered. "I figured Anouk, Sten, Morrigan and I could go."

"What!" Alistair cried. "You want to leave me here!?"

"Of course I don't!" Dmitri huffed. "But your schooling the abbey makes you more valuable here, and to be honest I would like to take Zevran with us too, but I noticed that a lot of the notes scribbled around here are from him. This isn't about who I want or don't want to take, I'm trying to be logical here and the longer all of us stay here the more likely that someone is going to figure out that Bodhan's selling permit is forged – we've been in one place for too long."

At that moment the door behind Alistair swung inward, bringing in a chilled breeze that made him shiver. He didn't turn, knowing that it would be Zevran, but Alistair had to do a double take when the elf walked into his line of sight. Zevran was covered in blood and Alistair knew that none of it was his. It was soaked deep into the fabric of his shirt, misted across his tanned face and matted in his hair. Now, Alistair was glad that Zevran had sent Anouk away because he could only imagine the slow deaths those men had suffered.

"Where is she?" Zevran asked, eyes darting between Alistair and Dmitri.

Alistair didn't answer, just pointed to the wash room. Zevran nodded his thanks, moving to knock on the door and disappearing behind it a moment later.

As Alistair stared at the door the elf had gone through he realized that maybe Dmitri was right. The idea of them splitting up still didn't sit well with him, but look what staying in Denerim had brought upon them. He didn't like the idea of Anouk being so far out of his reach because if she needed him this time there would be no rescue just in the nick of the time. But Alistair trusted Dmitri to keep her safe and maybe when they returned from the Brecillian Forest he would once again recognize the person that looked back at him through Anouk's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Welp. This ended up being a lot longer than I thought it was going to be. I promise we really were supposed to be <em>leaving<em> for the Brecillian Forest by the end of this chapter, but it got derailed by a lot of angst. **

**I have this headcanon about Zevran that he absolutely abhors anyone who would think to force themselves on another person, and if he ever killed someone for doing so that he would let them suffer as they died because he knows that rape is about power and would want that person to know exactly how powerless they really were. **

**Annyway. Thank you to those that reviewed the last chapter! You guys are really spurning me on to keep writing this even as I work three jobs. I would have had this out last week but I was suffering from a really bad cold and a two-day fever which my husband has now caught. Oops. .**

**See you guys next time! Review? **

**-(gxr)-**


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